The Last Cell on the Left
by murtagh799
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been missing for a good twenty years since the end of the war. It is almost by accident that a young Daily Prophet reporter finds him locked away in a private cell in Azkaban. Trapped there for twenty whole silent years, he was more than willing to rot in that cell for the rest of eternity if it meant his love could live happily ever - even without him. DRAMIONE!
1. When the Darkness Began

A/N: I know I've been away for a very long time, but I really want this to be my comeback. I'll be updating every week on Mondays for the foreseeable future (and hopefully until this is finished). This is going to mainly be a first person story from Draco's point of view STARTING CHAPTER THREE! So hold your horses.

Yes, this is another Dramione.

For those of you wondering about When the Stranger's Gone, it is officially on hiatus. After I'm finished writing this I am going to go back and rewrite When a Stranger Calls before I get on finishing up the sequel. I just really needed a break from that story and it just needs too much work.

I really hope you enjoy!

_**The Last Cell on the Left**_

_**By: Murtagh799**_

**Rating: T for Adult Themes**

**PROLOGUE: WHEN THE DARKNESS BEGAN **

_**July 5**__**th**__**, 2002:**_

There was a clock ticking somewhere behind him, counting out the seconds until he was sentenced to doom or an eternity of purgatory. He wasn't entirely sure which he had signed up for yet. He would have to wait and see. It didn't matter, though, either way. He didn't care. He had resigned himself to this the second he had figured out that doing this, signing away his nonexistent freedom, meant that _she _could live happily.

Without him, yes, but safe and sound and _happily. _

Even now, the thought of her bolstered his resolve, made him feel like anything was worth it if she would be alright. Thinking of her perfect face, her softness, the way she felt in his arms… It had all been worth it. And this, this small sacrifice, it was nothing compared to all that she had given him over the past few months. She was everything. She had reminded him that he was human too and that it was alright to breathe in this world.

But if Draco Malfoy had learned one thing, it was that Hermione Granger was everything and that he, a lowly ex Death Eater was never going to be more than a second class citizen, anyway. Granger might not have been an evil person, but it didn't change anything. Draco was always meant to end up here and he knew it. That was why this was all okay with him. He deserved this. He deserved everything that came along with his family name. It was all the better if he could just help her in at least one way, to pay her back for everything she had done for him.

It was the only thing he could do for her now. Staying with her would've only ruined her life, Weasley had made sure of that. Leaving her and starting over with someone else would've killed him. This…This was the only way. He would never see her again, yes, but she would be _happy. _Weasley had made sure of this too.

And he… well, he was just going to breathe like she'd taught him to. Breathe in a prison cage.

He tried unsuccessfully to not think of her, then, knowing that the rest of his life was meant to be without her. But he failed like he'd failed everything else in his life. He couldn't forget the tears in her eyes as he'd said goodbye to her for the very last time. Her big brown caramel eyes, her small frame, and her birdlike features… She had always been so beautiful. She would always be so beautiful to him. He'd never forget her.

He couldn't forget her even if he tried.

He shifted in the uncomfortable seat, the manacles binding his wrists clanging loudly, causing the magical chains binding him to the chair to grip him even tighter, cutting into his skin. It was nothing new, though. He'd been here before. It was almost more familiar to him than the scent that lingered on Hermione's skin.

"You're doing the right thing," Weasley said to him. Perhaps the sound of the chains had brought him back to the office, the office of the keeper of Azkaban. "She's going to have a long and happy life."

Draco didn't bother looking up, didn't even acknowledge him. But he knew it was true. Ron Weasley loved Hermione Granger, probably as much as Draco loved her himself. If anyone could give her a happy life, it was going to be the bastard Weasley. He had money where Draco no longer had anything attached to his name but scorn. Weasley was a war hero. Draco was nothing but an Ex Death Eater and a second class citizen. Draco could only give her misery. Weasley had everything. Weasley was going to give her everything now that Draco was out of the picture.

Draco could see it.

Weasley cut his chains from the chair and handed them to the wispy old man that Draco knew was being paid to keep this transaction from the papers. Weasley had promised to keep all of this under wraps so none of this would get back to _her. _So that she would think he had just left her be. Think that he had never wanted her to begin with…

The thought of it made him sick.

But it was all just as well. A life for a life. Well, Draco thought, a life for two lives. Weasley had released his father from Azkaban and restored all of the Malfoy estates to him. All in exchange for Draco to be removed from the equation, away from the embrace of Hermione Granger – soon to be Weasley. Lucius had begged him to not do this. To not give into the pressure. To just weather it through. To let the father live out his time in prison and pay for all his sins. Let the son roam free, free and destitute.

Not that any of that mattered to Draco. He hadn't done it for his father, no matter what Weasley thought. It was all for her. Everything he'd done since he'd laid eyes upon her on that fateful day, it had all been for her.

He just hoped she would remember it. Remember him. He knew she would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Weasley nodded to him, maybe a little bit smugly, before leaving through the double doors. His Auror status let him pass through easily and the doors magically slammed shut behind him. Draco stared for a long moment before allowing the old man to pull him along. Two guards trailed behind him, probably to make sure that he didn't escape. Draco didn't have the heart to tell them that there was no escaping, not for him. For he had come here willingly. He had done this to protect the one person he had ever loved in his short, pathetic life.

They walked through many corridors of cells. Some of the prisoners looked at him curiously. Most hardly noticed the group passing. Some screamed. Draco didn't say a word; neither did any of the prison guards or the keeper of Azkaban.

When they finally stopped, it was before a huge iron cast door, which the old man had to physically unlock from a key hanging from a large ring. And Draco instinctively knew that they never meant to let him go, despite what Weasley had said to get him to agree to this. Looking at the prison keeper, whose name Draco did not know, Draco could tell this was the case from just the set of his shoulders. The determination to keep another Death Eater off the streets.

But there was no panic in him. There was nowhere else for him to go, even if they _had _released him once Ronald Weasley married Hermione Granger. If he couldn't have her, he didn't want anything else. He might as well rot away in Azkaban until he was dead.

He'd rather be dead.

It only made him that much stronger when they led him down a row of abandoned cells, pushing him into the last cell on the left and locking the door behind him, effectively caging him in. But Draco paid them no mind. He simply sat on the dingy little cot in the corner and stared at the smooth stone wall, thinking of the one person he wished he could hold onto for the rest of his life.

But it wasn't meant to be. None of it was ever meant to be. So, Draco Malfoy sighed and lay back, preparing himself for an eternity of silence that was sure to follow.

It wasn't until much later, hours perhaps, that he got up and engraved a little tally in the wall, marking his first day as a prisoner of Azkaban. All the way in the depths of the prison, imprisoned in the last cell on the left.

**A/N: So what did you think? I really hope you enjoyed it! The next two chapters are from the point of view of a Daily Prophet Reporter (an original character). The rest of the story is going to be from Draco's point of view. **

**See you next week! Please don't forget to review. In the meanwhile, here is an excerpt from the next chapter: **

"_**I want to write an investigative story on the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy." **_

…

"_**How will you proceed?" he asked after an unusually long silence. "No one has heard from Draco Malfoy in over twenty years."**_


	2. Where in the world is Draco Malfoy?

A/N: And I'm back! Don't you just love it when I keep my promises? Thank you to all of you lovely people who read, reviewed, followed, and favourited. It really pushed me to get things done and it's always interesting to see what you guys think. Enjoy this next chapter! It's a little different.

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series. I do however, claim full ownership over Andrea Saltzman and any characters that you do not recognize. Everything else belongs to the appropriate owners. **

**Rating: T for coarse language, adult themes, and violent Situations. **

**CHAPTER ONE: WHERE IN THE WORLD IS DRACO MALFOY?**

_**Twenty Years Later: August, 2022**_

_Introducing Andrea Saltzman, junior reporter at the Daily Prophet (and the only capable person on the entire staff, in her opinion), 24, female, a brunette, daughter to Ministry of Transportation workers Bob and Marian Saltzman. _

_Introducing Andrea Saltzman's extremely red face, as Ms. Saltzman fumes silently at her desk because her boss is a chauvinistic, bigoted, bastarding brat that couldn't see talent if it crawled its way past the huge stick up his arse -_

Andrea immediately crumpled the piece of parchment she'd been scribbling furiously on as her said boss – The great and mighty Theodore Nott – passed just by her desk, shaking the hand of Jerry Sanford, who everyone said would get the promotion that Andrea so desperately wanted and deserved. And by hell did she deserve it! She was the one who put in the hours while everyone else was off doing whatever the hell people with lives did. She was the one who brought in all the great stories.

Hell, she was the one who got the most fan letters, much to the chagrin of her colleagues – who were primarily composed of ex-Slytherin males. She was the one who got the most ratings, the most popularity over her writing, the numbers. But there was obviously no way that she'd get the promotion because, hell, obviously slytherins didn't believe in raising females to a place of power. Who the hell would consider something so _stupid _anyway?

Screw meritocracy.

She sighed and rolled her shoulders as she watched Nott and his new little bitch go into the former's office, no doubt talking about how brilliant they were and how great it was to be a man in this world. Or more likely, they were talking about how much Sanford was going to get paid when the (fixed) promotion would be announced next week.

Seriously, where was the fairness in all this? Nott could have actually seriously considered who was best to take the spot of senior reporter, even if it _wasn't _her (which it totally should be because she really was the best out of all of them. Obviously). But he'd just automatically had chosen the _male _he'd liked best out of all of them. Or, more accurately, the junior reporter that kissed the most arse to the executives.

As Sanford walked out of Nott's office with a huge grin on his face, Andrea's heart sank. She knew there was absolutely no way that she was going to get that promotion, or any promotion in this place. She ought to really just take her lot in life and make peace with the fact that journalism was a cut throat, male driven business.

She had no place here. So, she continued with fact checking the latest issue going to press and tried not to cry until she'd managed to make it back to her (parents') house.

/

"Hey, did you hear?" Sanford said in his obnoxiously loud voice as they all ate lunch in their drabby little lunch room. "Lucius Malfoy passed away last night."

There were murmurs, none too interested.

"So?" someone finally asked. Quite _rudely _in her opinion. "Are _you _covering the obituaries now, Sanford?"

Snickers followed, but Andrea only rolled her eyes. Some glanced in her direction to see her reaction, but she kept her face composed. There was no use telling these people that just because one wrote about a _broad _range of things (including obituaries of people whom society had long forgotten) did not make you any less of a writer. These arses wouldn't understand something so profound. In fact, most of them probably didn't even know who Lucius Malfoy _was, _how could anyone expect people like these to appreciate the significance of his death?

Sanford scoffed and her skin literally prickled. One day, she would choke him in his sleep, she would. And then she'd be the queen of the Daily Prophet, the one getting all the good articles and promotions. Hell, she'd even torch his pretentious little house at the perfect location in London. His stupid pig nosed wife could go to hell with him. That would show the bastards who they were dealing with!

"... no one left to take his fortune, you know," he was saying. "The man was filthy rich, after all. The Ministry's talking about taking the whole lot of it on the down low. Heard it from Nott himself -"

"What?" she burst out, completely forgetting her own rules about not talking to any of the brats she worked with. "What about his son? Draco Malfoy?"

A silence swept over the room, which was rather remarkable considering that the room was filled with people who normally couldn't shove a sock in it if they sewed their own mouths shut. But she did not notice it whatsoever. It hardly mattered to her that the lot of them were shocked that she'd even deigned to participate in one of _their _conversations, as reserved as she usually was, nor the fact that this would probably come back to bite her in the arse later. Instead, she stared at him expectantly, waiting for the answer to her question. He cleared his throat uncomfortably under her gaze.

So alright, she could be a little unnecessarily intense and it freaked most people out.

"Well... his son's been missing for years, hasn't he? Nearly forever? No one thinks he's going to step forward now to claim his inheritance."

"Well..." she sarcastically imitated him, much to his irritation and to the amusement of the others. By Gods was it great to piss off the great and mighty Sanford. "Why not?"

"_Well," _he stressed, careful not to be outdone by the likes of her, "he's been rumoured to be dead."

The conversation continued without her as she'd long since zoned out. Draco Malfoy was an interesting case, perhaps one of the odder conundrums of the old war stories. She was one of the few people, at least out of her age group, that had actually paid attention to the war stories, the great figures, the excitement. No one liked to dwell on Voldemort's reign these days or Harry Potter's triumph, not unless you were fifty and boring. But she, the ever studious nerd, had soaked it all in.

She knew all about the battle of Hogwarts, who had died and how, how Albus Dumbledore had possessed the Elder Wand, and how Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort with a rebounding spell _twice. _She knew that Draco Malfoy had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and had been tasked to kill Dumbledore and how he couldn't go through with it.

And she was aware that Draco Malfoy had vanished off the face of the earth – quite randomly – exactly three years after the war. None of the books she'd read or the stories she'd heard had ever explained his longstanding absence. It was a really curious thing, but no one really seemed to care.

True, he wasn't the most _heroic _of characters. In fact, from everything she knew, he'd sounded quite like a jackass. But to vanish from the face of the earth and have that be the end of it? She supposed it was just a tiny bit strange. His father had never commented about it. It had been as if he'd never had a son from the way he'd behaved.

In light of the elder Malfoy's death, this would definitely sell papers, writing about the mysterious disappearance of a now very rich man. And if she could write a hit article, maybe she could get the attention of her boss. And maybe if Theodore Nott paid her a bit of attention, she could possibly convince him to dump the one hit wonder and give her the promotion instead.

It was a fantastic plan, really! But first she would have to do a little snooping.

/

"I want to write an investigative story on the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy."

Then he really did stop shuffling the papers on his desk and looked up (or actually down at her) to stare her right in her eye. Truthfully, it was a little nerve wracking, but she'd be damned if she would let him intimidate her out of this. This was her once chance! So instead of his sweltering gaze, she focused on...well, him.

He hadn't aged well, Nott. The wrinkles around his eyes, his receding hairline, his unfortunately paunchy belly. All these things calmed her for some reason she couldn't quite place. As he shifted uncomfortably before her, she supposed her scrutiny of him and his body unnerved him. Maybe the man before her actually felt self conscious for once. It would serve him right.

"Why?" he finally asked her. His tone was weary.

"With the death of Lucius Malfoy and the uncertainty surrounding the family fortune, I think the piece will spark a lot of intrigue," she said in her most formal tone (And by Gods was it fucking formal!) but Nott had a faraway look in his eyes. "Sir?"

"How will you proceed?" he asked after an unusually long silence. "No one has heard from Draco Malfoy in over twenty years."

This fact seemed to pain him and she almost smacked herself over the head. How had she failed to recognize the obvious? The very thing that would make her very dreams come true provided that she was successful? She tried to remain straight faced, to not break down in song and give herself away in front of him.

"Was he a good friend of yours, sir?" she asked innocently. Well, as innocently as her person like her could, anyway.

Which clearly wasn't innocently enough, because his gaze turned sharp. "You may write this article of yours, but I will read it myself before it goes to press. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" she exclaimed before stepping out of the office, completely unaware of the incredulous and somewhat jealous stares of her coworkers following her behind out of the building.

/

As excited as she was about her new mission, the entire endeavour was an extremely frustrating chore. After all, how was one supposed to find a man that no one had heard of or from in over two decades? But moreover, how does one find a man that no one, absolutely no one cared about finding? He was not well liked. He almost had the status of a war criminal. That was about it, about all anyone needed to know.

So instead of asking people, she'd turned to the paper trail, of which there was also next to nothing. She'd painstakingly gone through all the old issues of the prophet, but the last time he'd been mentioned was at the Death Eater trials held after the war to account for his war crimes. He hadn't been spotted by any other news source, either. She'd checked and then double checked. She'd even gone through the despicable archives of Witch Weekly!

And all for nothing. There was no trace of the man.

Three days had passed in this fashion and she'd honestly been about to give up on the entire thing – screw going places in life, who the hell needed such things _anyway? _– when she realized how stupid she'd been. If someone were looking for a missing person, where were they supposed to go? Of course, the first stop would be to consult the grandest, largest, most comprehensible source of information in the entirety of wizarding Britain.

The Ministry of Magic.

After that it was almost ridiculously easy. All she'd had to do was discreetly sneak into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the pretense of fact checking and then flirt on the side with one of their new interns. What's his name (but no really, what _was _his name?) then very nervously let her into the grandiose room of files that would end all files on the sly.

She'd never been there before, had only heard tales of it from just about every journalist and wanna-be reporter ever. And truly, it was a sight to behold. Rooms upon rooms, shelves upon shelves, piles and piles of documents just sitting there to be explored about everyone there ever was. Well, more accurately, everyone that had ever set foot in Wizarding Britain in the past 100 years. All older files were kept in storage on some other level – she didn't know where.

But that didn't matter. Draco Malfoy wasn't _that _old of news.

She itched to explore. Some of her stories could be confirmed with just a peak into some of these documents. Like, did the Wasps seeker Dana Richards actually get hauled in for questioning last June for suspected Goblin torture? Surely something like that would be in Dana's file. And she was in the proximity of it. All she'd have to do was look for it.

But she quelled the hunger, the curiosity. She was on a mission here and she only had _so _much time. Think of the bloody promotion! If she was found in here, she'd probably be dragged straight to the Auror department. And then Nott would have to be contacted. The bloody Slytherin that he was, he'd probably fire her for this. She hurried towards the aisle labelled with a huge letter M.

It only took her a couple of moments to find it. It was the only spot in the entire shelve that had disrupted dust – probably because someone had come in here to retrieve Lucius Malfoy's file. She greedily reached for it. It wasn't overly thick like his father's file, probably because Draco Malfoy hadn't been as important as he'd always said he was. But then again, maybe that was a good thing. Less to search through.

_Draco Malfoy _

_Birth: 5 June 1980 _

_Residence: Unknown_

_..._

She thumbed through the rest of the thin folder, but it was all just junk about his war trials and how his Hogwarts Graduation Certificate had been rendered null and void. It was all very disappointing, but at least she knew he was alive. She could work with something like that. A dead man didn't really leave too many opportunities for research, especially one as mysterious as this.

She could hear footsteps.

Quickly, she began to furiously flip through the pages, skimming as fast as she could. Fuck it, but they'd charmed the files so that it was impossible to make copies of them – those damn Ministry workers! There wasn't much of note, except that he'd been charged with maiming a hippogriff three years after his war trail. It was entirely random and slightly amusing – not that she had _time _to be amused.

The footsteps were hurried and they were coming closer.

And then she saw it, at the very back of the file. It was a handwritten note, scrawled rather messily right at the bottom right hand corner of the file. It was so discreet that she wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been paying such close attention. Bringing the file closer to her face, she realized it was a series of numbers – nearly illegible and almost faded.

_SC.998.997.56789 _

Memorizing it as quickly as she could, she shoved the file back into what she hoped was its proper place and turned to meet the footsteps that had reached it. She let out a breath when she realized it was only the intern (_seriously, _what was his name?). He seemed out of breath and out of patience because there was a panicked look on his face.

"Come on, we have to go," he whispered. "Lunch is almost over and you can't be here when they all come back!"

She just nodded, repeating the numbers inside her head. She didn't know what they could mean, but she knew that they had to have some kind of importance – otherwise, why the hell would it be there, right? RIGHT? The intern was pulling her none too gently by the wrist and that irritated her mildly. Or hugely. So, alright, she would have punched him square in the jaw if she hadn't been busy trying to memorize her ticket to making 20% more a month.

_SC.998.997.56789 _

When they were safely in the grimy ministry cafeteria, intern boy looked at her relieved. As if he'd been the best thing that had happened to her since last Christmas's bonus. She tried to _not _glare at him, because he really could make a scene if he wanted to. And she needed these people to stay on good terms with her, because hell – information wasn't always easy to come by! She really ought to learn his name.

"So... did you get what you needed?"

"Yep!" Her smile turned slightly more genuine as she repeated the number in her head once again. He looked gratified. As if it would help him get into her pants or something as ridiculous as that. "Thanks so much, really. I don't think I'd have been able to get this story done in time without you!"

"I was thinking we could go out next Friday to this really cool place-"

"You know, my lunch break is just about over too, how about I floo you later and we can catch up, okay?" she said, already walking away from his suddenly not so happy face. "Thanks again!"

"Don't you need my address?" he was calling after her.

"See you!" she shouted.

The second she rounded the corner, she started off on a sprint to the Apparation points, just in case he decided to follow her to give her his address after all.

/

_SC.998.997.56789 _

The numbers were haunting her.

It had been two days since her not so eventful voyage into the Ministry of Magic and she hadn't been able to figure out what the numbers meant or what they were for or why someone had thought to scribble them down into Malfoy's file. Hell, for all she knew they could've just been entirely random or meant nothing. Or maybe they were just a serial to help the interns file the stupid files. Nevertheless, she couldn't get the nagging suspicion that the numbers meant something and if she only just _kept looking _she'd find something that would help her.

But she'd found nothing so far, and it was very frustrating. And it wasn't for lack of trying either! She'd gone through everything there was possible to go through, every conceivable possible avenue for searching and had only ever reached dead ends. Even her parents hadn't known what it was or the great and bratty brownnoser that insisted on bothering her every so often at work.

"Hey Saltzman," some idiotic jerk shouted at her across the office, "these need fact checking. Up for it?"

She sighed as the only blond in the office walked towards her. To be honest, he was the nicest of the bunch. He rarely made comments about her behind her back because she was a woman. Actually, he was the second most industrious person in the entire office! (Her being the first, obviously). But as he dumped the large bundle of papers with a loud _thunk_ to her desk, she was reminded of the fact that he was still an arsehole that thought her below him.

She rolled her eyes as he smiled at her. "Can't you at least untie the bloody knot?"

"Your wish is my command," he said with a disgustingly embellished bow in her direction.

And boy was the man clumsy. As he untied the string that was keeping the entire package together, he must have slipped or something equally as ridiculous, because everything went flying _everywhere. _As if she didn't have enough on her plate. As she got down on her knees, she fancied he'd planned this. Of course they all wanted her on her knees.

And then she saw it. The sheet with the numbers on it. The numbers like _her _number. And she'd had to snatch it like the psychotic nutcase she was. He stared at her rather oddly as her eyes quickly skimmed over the sheet, but the sheet didn't make any sense, probably because it belonged with _other _sheets of paper – and how was she supposed to find them in a paper mess like this? She began to panic.

"Are you quite alright?" blondie asked, waving his wand so that the mess reassembled itself neatly on her desk. "You could've just used your wand you know."

She blushed. Then unceremoniously shoved the piece of paper into his face. "What is this?"

He moved her arm back so he could stare at them properly, much to _his _amusement. "They're just old Azkaban numbers. You know, for the Lucius Malfoy obituary?"

"What do you mean _old _Azkaban numbers?" she asked sharply. He stared at her as if she was odd – which, admittedly, she was – and then placed the sheet of paper onto her desk.

"They used to write them like this," he said, borrowing a quill of her desk and circling the number that had caught her eye. "Serial code for the security status and then an eleven digit prisoner number. They changed their system fifteen years ago, but I bet you're familiar with that by now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked absentmindedly.

"Just complimenting you on your knowledge, Saltzman," he said with a grin. "Take it easy."

But she wasn't paying attention, nor did she care. She had a number of a cell in Azkaban and it had been scribbled in the file of Draco Lucius Malfoy – _handwritten _by someone. Someone that had put him there? Or was he there at all? He wasn't dead, the file had proven that much. Could it really be that Draco Malfoy had spent the last 20 years rotting away in Azkaban? For what? And how? In secret? She realized blondie was still talking to her when she interrupted.

"What say you and I go to Azkaban tomorrow?"

But in her head she was thinking: _Promotion here I come. _

**A/N: If you don't like Andrea's character or reading her point of view, don't worry – starting chapter three, we're switching away from it. Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to read and review!**

**In the meanwhile, here's a spoiler from the next chapter: **

_A shiver of fear passed through her as the guard unlocked a huge iron door, gesturing for her to enter an unlit corridor. She hesitantly obeyed, keeping the grand prize firmly in her mind. She had to do this, there was no other alternative. The guard shoved a lantern in her hands, which she nearly dropped, and then slammed the door shut on her, trapping her inside with god knows who or what. _

_She had to bite down on her tongue to prevent herself from screaming. _


	3. The Last Cell to the Left

A/N: Tomorrow is a holiday for me so I figured I'd upload this way early, just in case I don't get time to do it tomorrow. I just want to thank everyone again that's taken the time to read, favourite, follow, but especially those who have reviewed. It really helps push me forward.

This will be the last chapter from Andrea's point of view. I hope you enjoy!

**Rating: Rated T for coarse language**

**CHAPTER TWO: THE LAST CELL TO THE LEFT**

Andrea had never liked Azkaban, not in all her years working for the Daily Prophet (of which there were exactly four if you were counting her internship, which she obviously was). As a child, the place had seemed cool and what not. The place where war criminals, dark wizards, and pedophiles went. It was impenetrable (except for the times when Voldemort had controlled it and when Sirius Black had escaped, but no one really liked to mention those things) and it was in the middle of bloody nowhere.

Which meant that you had to get a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to Apparate you there.

So she'd shown up with Blondie McGee (A.K.A Gregory Flint) bright and early at six in the morning. There were two reasons for this. First, she wanted Blondie Flint to be too tired to make any odd remarks or passes at her, and secondly she wanted to avoid a run in with the intern named what's his face.

But, of course, her luck was never with her, especially this early in the morning. Not only was the intern _there, _but he was the one assigned to take them to Azkaban (mostly because he was the only intern working before 9 AM – the customary work time). But it was alright, because she knew that fate hated her guts. That was the reason she'd brought Greg with her. As long as a tall, blonde, and slightly gorgeous man was standing next to her, the shy little intern probably wouldn't try to ask her out to dinner in return for the risk he'd taken for her.

True to his purpose, Flint was particularly irritable, slightly red in the eye, and impeccably rude to just about everything and everyone he came into contact with. The nervous intern almost shivered at having to stand next to him. He would barely say a word beyond what was necessary and she grinned at that, even if it really was too early to move one's facial muscles in such a fashion.

"Why the hell are we here so early, Saltzman?" he practically growled at her, nearly destroying the mug of what must have been coffee in his hand. "You know I have no floo connection. Had to get up at bloody four in the morning to make it here in time!"

She swore she heard the mug crack a little. The intern looked absolutely alarmed. She assumed the mug was his.

"I guess it must have slipped my mind...Besides, did you see the size of the list of prisoners we have to question today?" she said in the airiest voice she could possibly muster. Which, in retrospect, wasn't very airy at all. "Anyway, let's beat the traffic then, shall we?"

"_Traffic?" _he nearly yelled. His tone was manic and slightly concerning, but she paid that no mind. "What do you mean, _traffic? _Who the hell do you think lines up to get to Azkaban?"

"Shall we get going then?" she said brightly, addressing the intern. His eyes, if possible, got even wider. She felt like if he put any more pressure on them, they'd pop out. At least her plan was working well enough – he hadn't said a word as of yet except to say hello. And that was custom, wasn't it? Entirely cordial. "We _are _on time, aren't we?"

He looked shocked that she actually expected him to speak and she had to stop herself from snickering. She heard Greg muttering evilly in the background, probably glaring daggers at her and the poor boy in front of her (_Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. I. Will. Kill. Her. What does that even mean, are we on time? Of course we're bloody on time. Four in the bloody morning!) _ She didn't let the amusement show on her face, no matter how hilarious the situation actually was.

But as it was, she was barely restraining her smirk, and instead had to grab Greg by the arm, holding the other out to the intern. She didn't have to delay any further, the poor boy wanted this over and done with. It was much too early in the day to be terrorized by a giant blond baby. So, without further ado, they were Apparated to the rocky outcroppings of the almost deserted island that housed the wizard prison Azkaban.

And boy was it bloody cold.

The icy spray of the ocean (or was it a sea?) around them drenched them in mere seconds. The entire place, as far as she could see, was shrouded by huge grey daunting storm clouds. It was probably going to rain – or was this gloomy scene how it always looked here? Cold, grey, and depressing – quite a fitting place to house your criminals. Bravo, really, bravo. Who the hell had even found this place?

Greg tugged her arm rather roughly, pointing to the retreating figure of the intern. He was making his way up a giant cliff – which, on closer inspection, was actually where the prison was located. From what she could see, they would have to hike upwards through the treacherous terrain in order to reach the prison doors. She was going to fall down a lot. And bloody hell, she was _not _wearing the appropriate shoes for an event like this!

A wave crashed against the side of the island, precariously closer to where they happened to be standing, drenching them to the bone with salty ice water. She imagined losing her footing (a very real possibility) and falling to her very rocky, very cold death. Or would Flint save her? Oh hell, who was she kidding? They'd both probably fall and die. Or would the waves carry them out to sea and mercilessly drown them?

Another wave crashed, even closer than the last one.

"Let's go!" Greg yelled above the roar of the sea, dragging her along in the painful direction of relative safety.

It was not an easy climb, as she had predicted. Magic of any kind could not be performed on the island, not even by the prison guards and other personnel. They couldn't even use a heating charm or make themselves water repellant (a nightmare honestly, her hair was going to frizz up like none other if she'd ever survive this ordeal – or, ever get dry again).

By the time they had climbed to the top, Andrea had fallen once and tripped thrice, clinging to Greg in the most humiliating fashion imaginable. And, she had thrown only one singular tantrum that no one had been able to hear. Or maybe Flint had ignored her on purpose. In any case, they were dripping on the stone floor of the entrance hall, red in the face, bruised, and insanely intimidated.

For example, she would not usually have stood this close to any other individual, ever, but she was cold and scared (only slightly, of course). And even though Flint would never admit it, so was he. She could feel it in the way he was shivering. Intern face was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared the first opportunity that had cropped up, the coward!

Though, she couldn't actually blame him, could she? This place was really bloody creepy.

"At least there aren't any Dementors here anymore," she whispered to Flint, trying to soothe the fear in her belly. As if saying it out loud would help. Greg gave her an odd look. "What?"

"I didn't know anyone at the Daily Prophet knew about _Dementors, _half wits that they are and all."

He didn't see the nearly shocked expression on her face (seriously, she had thought she'd been the only one to notice the rampant idiocy in her oh so lovely workplace) because he was facing the man that had appeared out of a door they hadn't see when they'd come in, though it was in plain sight of them now that she looked more carefully. He was a stocky old man and he was holding the largest ring of keys she had ever seen. He had a long white beard, but it was wispy and unimpressive. She didn't think he would be much trouble, if at all.

"Hello," she said to him, even though she didn't feel like it, just to be polite. But he rudely gestured that she shut up, motioning that they follow him through the mysterious door. "Alright then..."

Flint snickered. She discreetly stepped on his foot. He made it a point to shove her through the door.

"We have you all set to go," oldie said in his wavering voice. The man was clearly senile or very productive – either way, he was rather rude. He hadn't even said his name! "And everything seems to be in order for your visitation of all of the prisoners, except..."

Her heart began to pound. She hated that word. She truly, honestly hated that word with a burning passion.

"Except?"

Could he hear the fear in her voice or see it in her face? Her hands began to sweat as they always did when she was nervous. He pulled out a pair of ancient looking glasses, skimming a piece of parchment on his desk. He pushed it towards her (_Her, _not Flint. It was obvious he had her all figured out) and pointed towards the last prisoner number. It was circled. It was _her _number.

_SC.998.997.56789 _

"And what seems to be the problem?" Greg asked when she'd failed to get feisty. She knew she'd brought him along for a good reason! "We had these cleared by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or did you not receive our letter of approval?"

In order to visit Azkaban for any reason, one had to visit the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to get approved. There, you had to stand in line for hours on end for some busy body bureaucrat to see you and approve your request, at which time they'd ask you a million questions. Who, what, where, when, why, how, what relation, do you even know what Azkaban is _for? _They're murderers! Unless, of course, you worked for the Daily Prophet. Then your request files went to the desk of some intern or another (quite like _her _intern, in fact) and they'd essentially rubber stamp it for you. She knew this. Flint knew this. So did the old man sitting before them.

"Well, yes," the keeper said, seeming slightly bothered that something like that would even be mentioned. What kind of relevance could a fake approval _really _have? "But-"

"But what?" Flint asked, his voice dangerously sweet. And she had to say it was deliciously sexy in a totally _I'm just your co-worker appreciating your beauty _kind of way. "Do the workers of Azkaban think themselves above the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Or maybe the Ministry of Magic?"

_Damn, _she thought. _Hook, Line, and sinker!_

The keeper of Azkaban visibly paled at that remark, though. Greg nudged her gently and she glanced over to see his sweet smile had turned positively dangerous. Well, hell, if he wanted to flip the fuck out over her sake, she was just going to lean back and not break a sweat. He was insanely useful, after all! He nudged her again, then cleared his throat.

"If that is the case, my dear man, I shall just have to escort myself back to the Ministry and have a word with Helen Bones. She _is _head of the department now and my cousin." Another nudge. Well hell, he was seriously getting annoying with all the unnecessary physical contact. "Come now, Andrea, I think Ms. Bones will want to hear about what Azkaban thinks of itself these days..."

_Oh, _she thought, she was supposed to play the good cop. That made _so _much more sense.

She pulled Greg down by his sleeve as he made to get up and put on her sweetest smile. "Come now, Greg... I'm sure this nice man was just following some old protocol or another, yes? I'm sure he's willing to help us, though." She turned towards Mr. Grumpy face and widened her smile. "Aren't you?"

Whitey was shaking his head vigorously, relieved yet shaking. Something was clearly not right with him and Andrea knew why. No one was supposed to know that Draco Malfoy was a prisoner of Azkaban and this man was his keeper. Someone had obviously paid him to keep the secret. How much did he value his job? She supposed she was going to find out in a couple of moments.

"Are there special procedures I should be aware of?" she asked sweetly. "With this _special _cell, I mean."

And then Whitey knew that she knew his secret and the whole charade was up. He knew she was onto him and that he couldn't even do anything about it with Gregory Flint sitting next to her. With a magical ban over Azkaban, it was obvious what the outcome would be if the frail little man tried to threaten or – god forbid – try to attack them to prevent this little dilemma.

"Only one visitor per cell at a time," he spat out, clearly frustrated that she was going to get him fired or worse and that there was nothing he could possibly do about it without having the Ministry's wrath upon him. "And limited visiting hours."

"Now wait just a minute-" Greg began.

"Agreed," she cut him off. "Anything else?"

He seemed unnerved that she was willing to play along with him, as if they really weren't speaking nonchalantly of something that was probably highly illegal in so many ways. He handed her and Greg several sheets of parchment, talking about rules, guidelines, conditions, how she ought to conduct herself, what to do if a psychotic murderer attacked you, etc, etc. She only pretended to read it as two guards entered in and searched her.

As if she'd mess up an opportunity like this by bringing something illegal to a wizard prison.

As they left the office, the old man scribbling quickly on a piece of parchment – no doubt owling someone who would take care of the mess he'd found himself in – Greg grabbed her shoulder and pulled her aside.

"I really hope you know what you're doing, Saltzman," he hissed as the two guards who were meant to be escorting them waited impatiently some feet ahead. "And that you really get that bloody promotion. That's what this is about, right? That story you're writing for Nott?"

"How did you know about that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. Had he been stalking her or something?

He looked at her as if she were the most ridiculous person he'd ever seen. "Everyone knows about it. That's all anyone's been talking about since Sanford brown nosed it out of Nott that day you went into his office."

"Oh," was all she could say. "Well, thank you."

He winked and began to walk away.

"Wait!" she called after him. "Would you really have gone all the way to Helen Bones for this?"

"I don't know a Helen Bones, do you?" he said with the largest, most fantastic smile she'd seen from him all day. But then it melted right off his face and he was entirely serious. "You be careful."

And then he was walking away to do the work she probably should've been helping him with in this dark and dreary prison. As she stood there, watching his retreating back as he was led away, all she could think was Gregory Flint was almost as devious as she was.

Almost.

/

She was led all the way to what seemed like an old abandoned part of the prison. At least, she thought that that might've been the case since they passed rows and rows of empty cells, a thick layer of dust under their feet. Some of the cells had even collapsed in on themselves, filled with rubble. She wondered if prisoners had been in those cells when it had happened. Then she imagined bones pulverized under the rocks and she had to throw away a bout of revulsion.

That couldn't happen, right? Then again, they _had _secretly locked up a very rich man's son without telling anyone – so the prospects weren't entirely promising. What if the silent prison guard was leading her to a cell to put _her _in? They certainly didn't seem to be beyond such things and no one would find her here. Gregory Flint probably wouldn't come after her, if he was even left to be free in the first place.

She didn't think he would.

A shiver of fear passed through her as the guard unlocked a huge iron door, gesturing for her to enter an unlit corridor. She hesitantly obeyed, keeping the grand prize firmly in her mind. She had to do this, there was no other alternative. The guard shoved a lantern in her hands, which she nearly dropped, and then slammed the door shut on her, trapping her inside with god knows who or what.

She had to bite down on her tongue to prevent herself from screaming.

"Hello?" she called out instead, desperately. She could hear her voice waver and instantly loathed herself for it. There was no need to panic. There was no way these people were going to leave her here like this. "Hello? Are you going to well...um – I don't know, open this bloody door or something?"

The guard grumbled something, shuffling his feet. "You go," he said gruffly.

"Go _where_?" she demanded hysterically.

"On!" the guard said, clearly frustrated. "You go on!"

And then he was walking away, she could hear him dragging his heavy feet over the dusty floors, leaving her locked behind this impossibly large door without a wand and armed with only a lantern for protection. In the dark. Where there were possibly captured prisoners, murderers, dead bodies, missing Dementors that wanted to suck out her soul, and spiders. What the fuck was he playing at?

Instead of banging on the door like everything in her body, mind, and soul was telling her to, she grasped the lantern as firmly as she could with her shaking hands and walked off into the darkness with a bravery she didn't know she possessed. She prayed that her worst nightmares wouldn't come true. Above all, she prayed that this would all be worth it.

Bloody hell. If this crazy endeavour of hers wasn't worth it and if she were to be trapped here like a prisoner forever, she would have to kill something. Probably herself, considering the lack of...well, anything, really.

She walked down the corridor more bravely than she felt (a lot more bravely than she felt in all honesty. She was ready to wet her pants at this point!) and found to her relief that all the cells were basically empty. These cells too were dusty, dank, and damp, some of the doors hanging limply and rusting from their hinges.

All except the last cell to the left.

At first she had thought it had been empty like the rest. Her eyes had almost missed the small pile of rags sitting cross legged and facing away from her. As she did a double take, she noticed the entire cell was filled with tallies on the walls, gouges made by something. Something to count the days? Her mouth fell open.

She cleared her throat. "Mr. Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?"

If it was his name, he didn't stir. Some length of time passed but he didn't move at all – if it even was him. He was so still, she had to doubt if he was even still alive. How could someone sit so still and still be breathing? It didn't seem possible, at least not to her, but Draco Malfoy – or whoever this man was – had apparently perfected the art of sitting like a stone.

"Sir?" she called to him, more tentatively than before. "My name is Andrea Saltzman. I'm from the Daily Prophet. I think you know I'm not technically supposed to be here, but _I _know that neither are you. If you're in some kind of trouble... I can help you if you speak with me."

Even though she knew she was just spouting bull crap because she was scared, he didn't even stir all through her unprepared speech. Not a twitch, not an indication that he'd even heard her or that he was breathing or alive. She was unnerved. She was doubting her plan. She was considering giving up on this crazy endeavour – promotion be damned!

But the thought of fact checking for the rest of her life kept her exactly where she was.

"Well! If you can't speak, that's alright, too," she began to ramble. "Just give me any indication that I can help you, anything at all, and I'll definitely do anything I can to get you whatever you need..."

Absolute silence. She wondered if he could even hear her. Maybe they had taken away his hearing or his ability to speak so that he couldn't speak to anyone about whatever he was hiding – whatever it was they all were hiding. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought.

"That's alright, as well! I'm just going to stay here with you for a while. If you don't mind. I think that maybe you don't get many visitors often, judging from the lack of footprints in the dust out here...um... And I don't think the guard is going to be back any time soon to let me out. Though... if you want me to go away or be quiet, I can do that also."

Nothing. Silence. Not a word or even a shake of the head. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

She had admittedly come unprepared. What had she thought? This would be extraordinarily easy. All she'd have to do was get past the bureaucracy of the Ministry and past the Azkaban guards with a smile. Beyond that, everything out to be a piece of bloody cake. Of course a prisoner would want to spill all his guts to her – That's all prisoners ever wanted to do, complain and tell everyone what they thought was the right side of the story – _Their _side.

But this man, if he actually was Draco Malfoy, hadn't even acknowledged her presence, something she wasn't exactly used to (not that she would ever admit that to anyone). It was like she wasn't even there. While it was unnerving and an obvious dead end, there was no way she could just give up now. Not because she had any better ideas or was especially hard willed or anything. No, the guard that had led her here had locked her up in this creepy arse corridor with an apparently dead-to-the-world man, and had walked away.

And she didn't know when he was coming back, if at all.

So, essentially, she was stuck here until they pitied her and decided to release her from her obligations. At the very least, she could say that she had tried. And Nott couldn't fire her because she _had _tried. In fact, Nott ought to be impressed if anything. She had potentially uncovered a controversial story and maybe found his long lost friend!

But to be on the safe side, and because it wasn't like she had anything better to do beyond sitting here in the dust, she supposed she ought to continue _doing _something, anything. But what? She could throw rocks at him or poke him with a stick to see if he was still alive, but that didn't seem like a particularly smart idea. She could shout loudly and see if he would react. Or she could go back down the corridor, bang on the door, and scream until someone found her.

All in all, the prospects seemed sincerely bleak. She opened her handbag for inspiration, considering what she'd brought along to help her .A couple of quills, some parchment, ink, ink remover, an apple, yesterday's _Prophet_, some water...

So nothing useful.

Picking up the prophet, she noticed Lucius Malfoy staring back out at her and she wondered if he knew, if anyone had even thought to tell him. How could she tell him? It wasn't like she knew him. She couldn't just go up and say, hey, I know we just met and you probably can't hear me, but your father's dead. I'm sorry and all! How do you feel about that? Can I quote you in tomorrow's _Prophet_?

"I've yesterday's _Prophet _here with me," she said nervously, taking the coward's way out. "Maybe I could read it to you?"

She hadn't even expected a response so she wasn't surprised when she didn't receive one. And so, she read him the article to which he also did not react. With nothing better to do, she continued on, reading to him about the expansion of the Transportation floor at the Ministry, the failures of Orator Michael Travanski, and the crazy fans at the Weird sisters' concert last week.

"...Here's the human interest section," she read distractedly, her throat slightly parched from reading out loud so much. "Hermione J. Granger, spotted leaving the abode of Ronald B. Weasley, both war heroes-"

She stopped abruptly. She swore she'd seen him twitch out of the corner of her eye. There was a large possibility that she'd imagined it, but still. She had had to stop and look up, stare closely to make sure that she wasn't imagining things. He sat as immobile as ever and she felt foolish for even engaging in any of this. Regardless, she read on, keeping an eye on him. One could never be too sure.

"Weasley, married and settled with two children, has been publically seen with Granger at several recent functions, namely the annual Ministry Charity ball, in which-" And she _had _seen him literally twitch! "Aha! I knew you could move!"

He cringed, finally turning to face her. His face was gaunt, slightly starved, a mad glint in his eye. He had a filthy beard the same colour as his matted pale hair, and really just looked grimy in general. She supposed this had to do with the whole being a prisoner thing. He was getting up slowly, she could hear his joints cracking at the attempt, the whole process putting a pained expression on his features. She wondered if she could help him.

But then she screamed, for he had rushed towards the bars of his cell with speed she didn't think was possible and was reaching out of the bars and grasping at the front of her coat. He was going to kill her. He was psychotic and that was why they had locked him up here, because he was crazy and he was going to kill her. She knew it.

But all he did was grasp the prophet out of her sweaty hands and dropped her to the floor. He returned to his spot, not paying any attention to her whatsoever as he flipped through the pages to the Human Interest Section. But it seemed he hadn't found whatever it was he was looking for – it clearly wasn't the piece about his father for he had barely glanced at that – and it seemed to frustrate him. He threw the pages back over his head, grumbling something to himself. Something that sounded oddly like: _No picture! _

Her heart was racing. She had to admit she was shaking and scared, but more than that, she was lit on fire. She had made progress. It appeared that something had sparked his interest and maybe if she could give him what he wanted, he would give her what _she _wanted.

"You _are _Draco Malfoy, aren't you?" she pressed. He didn't answer, but his posture was slumped. "I know you are. You have to be. Your cell number was in your file at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was penciled in, so I don't think anyone knows you're here. Who put you in here?"

He turned his head to regard her, a dirty pale brow raised. "Go away."

His voice was raspy, dry, and broken. She wondered if they even fed him. He had to be strong because he had rushed towards her so fast and had held her still as he'd robbed her of her paper. But nevertheless, that reaction could purely have been adrenaline. It wasn't out of the question. She threw her apple at him between the bars, which hit him on the shoulder.

He turned, first angry, then completely shocked that she had given him something _edible. _When she caught his eye, she placed her bottle of water just inside the bars. He looked at her skeptically.

"Go on," she suggested. "It's all yours."

He rushed towards it faster than she thought was possible for someone so weak looking as he was, but it was within his grasp and down his throat before she'd even had time to celebrate her small victory. Maybe the peace offering would help him become more receptive to her. But as he returned back to his spot, the apple mysteriously vanishing, she began to lose hope. He was becoming immobile again, refusing to acknowledge her.

"You know, I'm not meant to be in here. I had to practically blackmail my way in here to get to see you. I think you know that," she started slowly, making things up along the way. "I bet after I'm gone from here, they'll get rid of you just in case."

She could see him stiffen, but he still didn't say anything.

"What is it that you want?" she pleaded, still gentle as ever. "I really _can _help you. They won't get rid of you if they have the threat of being exposed over their heads. Just tell me why you've been put in here."

Still nothing. His shoulders had a stubborn set to them. There was no way he was going to do anything without being forced and she supposed she saw a lost cause when she saw one. So this was it. It was going to have to turn to manipulation now, wasn't it?

"Alright, then, sir," she said with a mock air of disappointment. "I suppose I will just have to accept that you don't want help. And I really will be sorry to see what becomes of you. That brute of a prison guard probably won't be gentle... I suppose I'll be going now."

She made a real show of getting up; scraping her feet along the dusty floor just to make sure that he knew she was actually leaving. Not that she would - she was trapped here. But he had to feel like she had the power, that his fate lay in her hands. In a way, that was exactly the case. In another, she was pretty much bribing him. She made it three cells past his before he caved.

"Wait," he called, his voice echoing.

She had to force herself not to run back. When she reached his cell – the last cell to the left – she found he was still facing away from her, hugging his knees this time. And the picture was entirely bleak. The small, broken bag of bones, shrouded in rags, and surrounded by dust, only tallies on the walls to mark his days. It was desolate. It was horrific. It was what he was.

"My name," he whispered, "is Draco Lucius Malfoy. I was born on the fifth of June, 1980. My parents were Death Eaters, and I am a war criminal."

He didn't say anything else for a long time. By the tremors that wracked his body, she thought that perhaps he had succumbed to tears, or perhaps that he was simply thinking of painful memories. She wanted to hold him.

But when he spoke, his voice was clear.

"I should be dead," he said.

**A/N: Please review to let me know what you think! Most of the rest of the story will be from Draco's point of view. **

**Until next week, here's a bit of the next chapter: **

**I steeled myself, snatching my papers back. "Where do I have to report for my hearing then? Or are we going to wait here for an Auror? Or are you going to take me in yourself, then?" **

**Granger's eyes widened further. She looked like a helpless little doll. "I'm not going to **_**arrest **_**you, Malfoy!" **


	4. The Day I Laid My Eyes Upon Her

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the slight delay in this chapter and that I have yet to respond to your lovely reviews (which I will do as soon as this chapter is posted). My hard drive crashed and my computer is pretty much unusable right now. I'm doing this from my mom's house. Thank god for back ups, right? Thank you all for reading and reviewing. It seriously makes my day!

The following is Draco telling his own story to our lovely daily Prophet Reporter Andrea. The majority of this story will be told in this fashion. Hope you enjoy!

**Rating: Rated T for coarse language.**

**CHAPTER THREE: THE DAY I LAID MY EYES UPON HER**

_**Twenty Years Earlier: June 2001**_

There is something you must know about me.

I am not a good person. Never was, never will be, never pretended to be. So you should take the following at face value. I am selfish, I am sadistic, and hell, I probably deserve what I got in the end. There was never a good bone in my body. People like Dumbledore thought, he's a kid, he still has time to mature into something good. But no, they were wrong. So utterly wrong.

I knew I was evil since the day I turned five years old, when I'd taken sadistic pleasure in torturing the lizard in my back garden during my own birthday party. There hadn't been any remorse. There had only been sheer curiosity for what was and is the world. That day I was the tormentor. I'd had all the power and would only amass it in my own petty little ways.

Today I'm the lizard.

So, here's how it works. Either you're on top, or you're on the bottom getting screwed. And when you get screwed, you get screwed over bad. One day, you've got the money, the looks, the power, and everyone wants you and wants to be you. The next day, something collapses and _you _collapse with it. It's not that odd – that's the world. It gives you things and then it takes it away. That's just how it works. And if you're not ready for the change, then hell, you're going to be in for a great kick in the arse.

It really all started when I was a kid.

You know, I was everything. My father had the Ministry and Hogwarts' School Board in his pocket – quite literally, so hell, what was I to think? I was essentially the king of the world. As long as I was emulating my father, he adored me and my mother couldn't get enough of the idea of having her own little prodigy, anyway.

So, naturally, I was living the life, the greatest fantasy. I got everything I wanted when I wanted it and in return, I would rule over my part of the little kingdom that my family reigned over. By rule, I mean terrorize. And by terrorize, I mean I was a class act little shit. A bully, basically.

It was all quite ridiculous in retrospect, especially in light of what happened after. For what I knew of my life, I was entitled to it all, and everyone else was below me. And, you know, people admired me for it. All of them were Slytherins or foolish sympathizers, but I actually _was _on top of the world (and Hogwarts) for what seemed like just about forever.

And then the Dark Lord came back from the dead and I realized I was nothing. I had nothing.

My father fell from grace. _My _father - king and manipulator of the Ministry – had been humiliated and reduced to nothing. So, by proxy, I was nothing. No, I was less than nothing. I was just a pasty white stick that was kept around to shine people's shoes. I was spit on and tormented. Basically, I was dead. And that was just all good and well, because everyone told me _that _was the way to be.

And then Potter killed the soulless snake, but things didn't get much better because of it. At least not for me they didn't, but who else's fate would I care about? Oh sure, things were fantastic for everyone else. The Death Eaters were put away and the Ministry was reclaimed by its proper rulers. Everyone who had been tortured and their Great Aunt was given an order of Merlin to commend their bravery. It was all bloody fantastic. Times were just bloody great.

But we Death Eater scum were kicked into the streets and locked up for our deeds. As if the bastards wouldn't have done the same if they were in our shoes. Like they were all that different from us anyway. So, big deal. We had had mudblood trials and made the lot of them register themselves. What did they do any differently? They had Death Eater trials, put a trace on us to limit our magic and made us carry identification cards so that everyone would know who we were and what we had done.

Essentially, we were the new mudbloods.

I had thought I had lost all there had been to lose during the war. The raging psychopath had taken away my home, the sanity of my mother, my wealth, the dignity of my father, and my pride. I'd thought I'd had nothing left at all. But I'll admit it freely. After the war ended, things were much worse. If I'd known how things were going to turn out, I'd have never given Potter the chance to escape when they'd caught him and dragged him to the Manor.

During the war, I had been less than nothing, this was true. But at the very least I was one of _them. _They shared their victories. They let me eat my fill. They thought I was swine, but they didn't scorn me for living, for just breathing. Yeah, I was essentially bloody useless, but they gave me my fill. They gave me what they thought everyone living deserved. Status had nothing to do with it.

After the war, I was lower than dirt. Or even worse than that. They tagged the lot of us. People would openly stare at us in contempt, spit at our feet, sully us in the street, and everything you can imagine. If we were lucky, we could avoid being ganged up on and beaten the crap out of. They made us carry cards that specified we were involved in Death Eater activities. No one gave us work. No one wanted us in their stores. We had to take a separate back entrance to the Ministry and report to the Auror department each month. Sometimes twice a month, if times were especially bad.

It was all very insulting, but what could we do?

It wasn't like we could do anything about it. We had no money. The Dark Lord had either spent it all or the Ministry had taken claim over it for "reparations". Even if we banded together – which no one in their right minds would ever allow – we were still nothing because no one was about to take any of us seriously.

After all, we had tortured and killed loads of their people and had tried to usurp them for power. We had pooled our support and resources behind a psychotic mastermind that had lost his cool over a teenager. A bloody teenager! So we were literally and truly fucked for the foreseeable future, and there wasn't any respite to be found.

That was how I got myself into the stupid position of a delivery boy.

The pay was honestly shit, but it was enough to keep me going. Father was in Azkaban, mother was in St. Mungo's ward for the mentally unstable, because she'd helped Potter in some way. And I was out on my own, because the Ministry had taken claim over all Malfoy estates and assets. Me. The kid that had never had to work for a knut in his entire life was now alone in the streets of London, left to fend for himself. I had to now live somehow, if it was even worth it.

Like I said, no one really wanted us around, so the jobs weren't exactly piling themselves up at my feet. We literally had to beg for sickles or steal for a living and eventually end up in Azkaban for trying not to starve to death. So I guess being an errands boy wasn't all that bad. I was still hedonistic, after all. Being pathetic was way better off than being dead. Or worse, rotting away in Azkaban.

Lucky for me, I worked for the Greengrasses.

They were one of the few pureblood families that had had the sense to make a run for it the year Dumbledore had died – sorry, had been _killed. _After the summer had passed, the Greengrass sisters had never appeared back at Hogwarts. Word had been that they'd all jet set to Switzerland with the rich old hag Zabini (who had conveniently left her nutter of a son behind) and took their cash with them too.

That was why they had been able to keep their titles and properties when they'd returned. That wasn't to say the Ministry and everyone else weren't suspicious of the lot of defector purebloods – they just couldn't justify lumping them in with us Death Eater folk. That didn't mean they weren't monitored like crazy, though.

That was why they couldn't associate overly much with the rest of us. The second they started showing sympathy to any of us or our cause, the enemy, they probably would be accused of funding and organizing a Death Eater uprising or some stupid shit of the sort. So even though the Greengrasses had been friends of my family for years on end, the best they could do for me was give me shit pay and let me run their errands for them.

And I was one of the lucky ones, still.

It wasn't like the Greengrasses had the means to hire the impoverished by the droves. They didn't want that kind of attention. Who would? That would just be asking for it. They were smart people, though. I couldn't really blame them for trying to survive. Everyone was just trying to survive in the new regime. For the most part, I just didn't think about it. I just went about my life as if the lot of it were normal – acceptable. There really was no other way to do it.

So, I woke up at an ungodly hour and rushed all day to do the meaningless tasks people like me existed for, so that important people could go about their worthy days with ease. I cleaned bathrooms with minimal magic. I ignored it when people shoved me in the streets or when receptionists were extremely demeaning and rude when I had to deliver packages. Going to the Ministry to receive my approved deducted paycheque that the Greengrasses could allow me each month was only becoming routine.

Eventually, I barely even noticed it anymore. I know that seems bloody weird – how can someone like me adjust to something like this at all? It was unimaginable. But there wasn't anything to be done about it. I just had to endure because enduring was the only way to survive if you were in my situation.

It sucked, but I wasn't starving and it could be worse. I just had to shut my mouth, keep my head down, and not draw any attention to myself. Things were...okay. It sucked, don't get me wrong, but it was..._okay. _I would _survive. _And, I did. That's the oddest part. Through everything, even until the end, I did survive. I'm _here, _aren't I?

It was monotonous for a long while. Even cruelty and being treated like a dog can get dreary after a while. That was just the way it was. You worked, you came home to your shitty hovel that really looked more like a jail cell, you slept, and you got up and did it again. Sometimes you were berated, sometimes you were abused by Ministry officials. All of that was just part of the process. But mostly, everything was just routine.

It was in this rut that I first saw her.

It wasn't the _first _time I'd seen her, obviously. I'd seen her before – she'd been as big a part of my life as Potter had been. So it was, what? Six years? That's a bloody good chunk of my life. I'd seen her tortured in my house during the war. Really, that was probably the reason why she had helped put this bloody system in place. Now the mudblood was on top and all the rest of us were below her.

Her name was Hermione Granger, back then.

I wasn't even sad or angry to see her, I was much too numb to everything for that kind of reaction. I do remember being surprised, though. What was someone like her doing walking on the street? She was Hero #2, right next to Potter. She could've been in a Ministry car, could've been with an escort. But instead, she was walking on the street with the rest of us commoners.

It was dreary that day and raining. The streets were muddy, particularly filthy with slush and god knows what else. I was due delivering a package to the offices of Lovegood and Longbottom and there she was, right in front of me, getting her little black boots dirty for no reason.

It was hard not to notice her. Her chocolate hair was bushy and as curly as ever - that was probably where she kept her excess knowledge. He coat was a stark snow white, not a fleck of dust upon her. Probably a repelling charm? Whatever it was, it made her stick out like a sore thumb among us, the poor street workers. Only the underprivileged ever walked anywhere.

The underprivileged being people who couldn't afford cars, a connection to the floo network, apparition licences, or broomsticks. The underprivileged being people like me.

I couldn't find the emotion in myself to hate her as I walked behind her on that filthy street, not daring to approach her because – well, why would I? But I did feel surprised. _Curious. _It didn't make sense in this Brave New World, her being there. And it _was_ her. She was unmistakeable. I could've been dead and I'd still recognize her anywhere. It was hard not to, really hard not to know her. She was important in this new regime of ours. Highly important and almost perfect.

I wasn't even really trying to follow her. Truly. _Honestly. _I was curious, yes, but I wasn't exactly going out of my bloody way. Yes, I took the longer route to Lovegood's office, but so what? It didn't _really _matter, Lovegood's receptionist wasn't as rude as the rest and Longbottom wasn't actually expecting me until tomorrow. This much I could afford to squander. Realizing that I had _something _to squander, even if it was just time, that I had _some _choice or power to exercise made me feel pretty damn good.

Maybe that was why I made the stupidest decision of my life right then.

Maybe that was why I touched her.

I hadn't meant to, really. I hadn't consciously thought about it. She had been about to cross the street, looking down and concentrating on skirting around an especially large muddy puddle. She hadn't seen the huge muggle truck heading and skidding our way, right at her. What was I meant to do? I didn't think about it, I just roughly pulled her away to me.

The one thought in my head during it all was if she had died in front of me, the Ministry would definitely have blamed it all on me. They'd have probably said I'd done it on purpose, that I'd conspired to kill her. In a flash, I could see myself sitting before the Wizengamot, chained and starved, being given the death sentence. And that was enough to move me feet. That had always been enough to move me anywhere.

It was the highest punishment, reserved for the highest crimes. No doubt, the death of Hermione Granger _would _have been the highest crime.

There were no more Dementors. They'd been banished after the war. Potter had seen to that. It had been Dumbledore's will or something stupid like that. But that had meant the Ministry had had to come up with something to replace the Dementor's kiss – the _highest _punishment. No one really knew. Some claimed that they took the condemned to the Department of Mysteries and forced them to walk through a veil.

But those were just unconfirmed rumors and no one was really sure. You had to be a dead criminal or an unspeakable to know. Neither of them could talk, could they?

Then, the flash was over and I found myself holding a wide-eyed Granger in a death grip, surrounded by a crowd of poor dirty silent workers. They stared at me in shock and pity; the fact that I'd touched a war hero was enough to convince them that I was basically done for. I could see the question on their faces: _Why did you do it, mate? Why'd you have to go put yourself into that situation? What's going to happen to us now that you've screwed up our chances of survival?_

What the bloody hell was I doing?

"Thank you, again, Malfoy...That really wouldn't have ended well for me if you hadn't..." It seemed she had gotten her fill of walking on the street. I didn't blame her. It was a dreary picture out here, out with the condemned. "What are you doing here?"

"Here?" I asked blankly.

"Here," she gestured around her vaguely.

I didn't even have it in me to sneer, to taunt her like it was my instinct to. What kind of question was that anyway? The useless wave of depression hit me again, the ever present longing that had always been present since the end of the war, just with that one little action of hers. And all at once, it was monotonous again.

"What do you do?" she prodded.

"Are you a Ministry official?" I automatically asked as it had become a habit. This was routine enough. This whole process was so routine, abusive and routine, even if it was happening now with Granger of all people.

She nodded. "Yes, but-"

I sighed. It was always easier if they weren't. Then at least I could trick myself into thinking that I didn't have to show them my registration card. I always would cave in, obviously. You really don't want someone running to the Auror department on you. It generally didn't end well for you. When did it _ever _end well for me? I reached into my pocket and thrust my identification papers at her, which she took, bewildered.

"I didn't ask to see your papers, Malfoy," she said, trying to hand them back to me.

My heart clenched. Well, she was the one with the power now. If she was going to fuck me over for saving her life, then so be it. I would just have to hold my breath and hope the people on my hearing committee weren't people _I _had screwed over in the past. It was amazing what some people held grudges over.

I steeled myself, snatching my papers back. "Where do I have to report for my hearing then? Or are we going to wait here for an Auror? Or are you going to take me in yourself, then?"

Granger's eyes widened further. She looked like a helpless little doll. "I'm not going to _arrest _you, Malfoy!"

Oh. Well, that was different.

"Then why did you ask for my papers?" I asked suspicious. "Why do you want to know my employer? I swear I didn't _purposely _touch you or whatever. I've only got the one job-"

"I didn't ask for your employer, Draco," she responded calmly as if _I _were the freakish one here. She was the one willingly walking on the street and had almost gotten herself killed. "I'm not doing anything but saying thank you. So... thank you. And if you ever need anything..."

She handed me a card with the most genuine smile I'd seen in years, which only meant that she was either a brilliant liar (which I knew she was from experience) or that I was losing touch with reality (which was highly possible). I took the card, because hell, Hermione Granger could send me to Azkaban in a second. As I walked away from her, as fast I possibly could without running, I ripped the card into tiny pieces and threw them behind me.

There was no way I was going to mix myself into anything with the likes of Granger. Involving her into my life would only bring trouble and I could really do without any more trouble, thank you very much. I would always wonder, though, what she was doing there in the street, why she'd bothered to give me her card. Had her offer been genuine?

Much later, she'd asked me why I'd ripped it. I hadn't had the heart to break it to her – she was poison and I really should not have drank it.

/

The thing is, my life was absolutely, hideously boring by that point in life. Even injustice can start to get a bit stale after a while. There isn't much to it. When you do the same dreary things every single day with no other option but to carry on doing them, you start to go a bit numb. But after a while, even that numbness isn't enough anymore. You start to crumble and flake. You start to _dream. _

I had this theory that _dreaming _is a part of human nature. There's something to it, having hope. Even the most destroyed, despicable beings dream, hold some kind of aspirations that keep them ticking and moving. Without them, we wouldn't be human. Without them, we'd probably be nothing, because it's one of the things that keep us significantly different from beasts.

But who knows. Maybe beasts dream too.

I started to hope that maybe something different would happen again, that I'd start seeing more of the high society folk walk the streets with us insignificant urchins. Maybe they'd grown a conscience finally and would allow us to have some semblance of our lives back. Or at the very least, I hoped they'd realized that they couldn't just force us to starve to death anymore. Or use prisons as a way of keeping us tame.

It was all very stupid and useless, especially considering that that very week I was stopped by four separate ministry officials, harassed, and had my identification card thrown in the mud on two separate occasions. Things were hardly getting better. If anything, they were progressively getting worse. There was so much unnecessary rampant hatred just brewing under the surface, I wouldn't be surprised if they started pureblood baiting one of these days. Everything that had ever gone wrong in the history of magic was being blamed on us, and what the hell were we going to do about it? It's not like we had a voice or anything.

Nevertheless, a pesky little hope had grown within the pit of my belly, and I couldn't squash it, no matter how much vile, acidic firewhisky I drank. From that point on, I always took the long route whenever I had to deliver packages to the Lovegood office.

And nothing was ever the same again.

**A/N: I'm really excited to see what you think of this! All I can say is that it's going to be a relatively slow build. See you next Monday! **

**Until then, here's another spoiler: **

"_Think you can just talk like that to a Hero and walk away, hm?" he spat in my face. Then he punched me in the jaw. I would be lying if I say I wasn't crying by that point, but believe me when I say I didn't sob. Not once. "Think you can just act like you own the place, you little prick?" _

**To my anonymous reviewer: **I have finally watched Veer Zara, and I was amazed at the resemblance! This story was actually inspired from Green Mile and – wait for it – pirates of the Caribbean. I hope there won't be too much of a cross over anymore, but I definitely like their ending better than the one I had planned. So we shall see. Thank you for reviewing!


	5. Why it is always better to submit

A/N: And, as is becoming routine, I'm posting this a little later than usual. SORRY! Thank you, as per usual, to all of my reviewers, readers, and everyone who's favourited so far. I live for you people. :)

NOTE: one lovely reviewer commented how Ron and Hermione seem to be unmarried. This isn't necessarily the case (which you will figure out in later chapters), but it is still a relevant part of the story. You've a great eye to detail, my dear!

On to the chapter.

**Rating: Rated T for violence and coarse language.**

**CHAPTER FOUR: WHY IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO SUBMIT**

**JUNE, 2001**

"Have you taken any leave of work since your last check in with us?" asked the Ministry official. She didn't even look up at me. They never did. This had long since ceased to bother me.

"No, ma'am," I replied.

I tried my best to be as neutral and pleasant as possible – that was always the best way to get through the monthly Ministry Death Eater Regulation checkups. They were always at the end of the month. Sometimes they happened twice a month. They were always conducted by insignificant bureaucrats that only needed an excuse to cut your paycheck in half. No, it was always best to be polite, never resentful. And I wasn't resentful, for the most part.

"How many days have you worked this month?"

"Thirty. After today, thirty-one." The thought would've made me cringe if I had any dignity, pride, or self respect. But I didn't, so that was easily taken care of. "I work for Greengrass Ltd. For..." She made a tick mark on my paper. "A year and eight months."

She made another tick in my file, didn't even give me a nod as she fed it into a bin, which sent it off to god knows where. And, as usual, my heart beat sped up. I knew that I had no reason to be especially worried, not really. I worked. I was one of the few with steady employment. I hadn't broken any of the new laws or anything. But that didn't change the fact that this unimportant bureaucrat could choose to make an example of me and take everything away. Because really, let's face it, while she was unimportant, I was absolutely _nothing _on this food chain. And she didn't even really need a reason to make that known whenever she wanted.

But, as every month, the bureaucrat came back with a yellow ticket that was my pay for the next month and shoved it in my hands. I gave her my usual bland smile, which she did not notice, and thanked her, which she did not acknowledge. This was the usual treatment. I moved along so the next poor bastard could go through the same motions.

Once I was out of there, I finally looked at the flimsy little piece of paper that was supposed to house, clothe, and feed me. The number was ridiculously small: Sixty galleons and eight sickles. But the number at the bottom of the little stub was even more pathetic. After my Death Eater taxes, I only had 25 galleons to live on for the next month.

Does that horrify you? Twenty five galleons is almost nothing. A limited edition Celestina Warbeck record costs thirty galleons. Generally, school books for a year can cost up to fifteen galleons. My quittidch team uniforms over the years have cost hundreds of galleons. A proper bottle of good firewhisky never goes below a ten galleons. A normal family of five can have groceries that total up to a hundred and fifty galleons if living modestly.

And they expected me to _survive _a whole month on just twenty five galleons. Does that horrify you?

Well, it didn't horrify me. At my worst, I'd survived a whole month on just twelve sickles, a knut and a public water fountain, which I'd learned to use very discreetly. I'd been able to get ahead on my rent. Of course, I'd been very malnourished by the end of the month, but hell, I'd ate like a poor king the next month. Ice cream had never tasted so good in my life, ever. Of course, that water fountain was destroyed a couple months later, and at this state in my life, I can't really afford to lose any more weight.

I pocketed the stub without a second glance. The Greengrasses would pay me in exchange for this little piece of paper. Sometimes they were nice and threw in a few extra knuts here and there, but they couldn't afford to be too generous. Their finances were being tracked quite stringently as well. They couldn't afford undue attention to their family for the sake of some death eater scum like _me, _no matter how much they felt bad for me.

It's always easier to pass through life with a blank look on your face. Of course, that look in itself might offend some people – some people are just looking for things to be offended at – but most of the time, you don't get any trouble if you pretend like you're non-existent.

At least, that had been working out well enough for me thus far.

Exiting the Ministry used to be the worst part of all of this. People would know who you were because you were exiting the "Death Eater offices". They knew you were being humiliated in there and they all wanted to be a part of it, really. You could see them whispering behind their rich little hands as you made your way to the back entrance. And really, how was I ever supposed to hold my head up high when high meant nothing anymore? Truthfully, I was just glad to have that measly piece of paper. I was glad that I got to walk out of here at all.

And then I saw Granger.

It was really just out of the corner of my eye. I hadn't meant to spot her, though my addled brain probably did. It wasn't a rational choice to do a double take, or open my mouth and attempt to say hello. Why the hell would my brain want to say hello to someone like Granger? I had always thought that self preservation was the thing that motivated me beyond everything else. But that day, that stupid day, I found out that Granger had somehow wormed her way into my consciousness and changed me.

Maybe it was because I was still deathly curious over why she would be on a street, walking along with workers like me. Honestly, it was costing me some few precious hours of sleep, pondering that. Or maybe I was just curious to see if she really was as good as everyone claimed. Maybe _she _would stand up and change things around here. I certainly couldn't and no one wanted to. But she hadn't had me investigated or thrown in prison, at least not yet. Maybe I just wanted to ask her why.

_Why _Granger are you like this? _Why _can't you ever seem to tame your hair? I'm poor and _I _still manage to tame my hair. Why can't you? Why do you always have a smile on your face? By gods, why do you smile at _me? _

It was crazy. It was stupidity. It was by far the worst decision I made in my life to look up into her eyes. And perhaps it was smart of me to look down and hurry off in the opposite direction, even though I knew she knew that I had seen her and chosen not to acknowledge her. Maybe I should've ran for it before she could catch me in such a public place. Maybe I should've just nodded at her to let her know I'd seen her there or whatever the fuck the girl was after. Maybe I should've slit my own throat after the war.

But hell, when I realized I'd looked at her with my stupid face and when she saw me looking and smiled, I just turned around and walked away as quickly as I possibly could. As if it was the last good thing I could've done. Maybe it was. Maybe that could've been the last good thing I ever could've done. But it wasn't. Now I know it wasn't.

She called after me, the stupid woman. Right in the middle of the Atrium of the Ministry of bloody Magic. She was Hermione freaking Granger. I couldn't just keep on going like I hadn't heard her. Everyone had heard her. Everyone was looking at her, then at me, then at her again. They were expecting Aurors to appear to drag me to Azkaban. _I _knew better. I knew she was a wild card. I knew she didn't need any Aurors to take me anywhere. She could do it herself. I was powerless, after all.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged when she reached me. She was a bit breathless. "How are you?"

How was I? I was mortified. People were lagging around watching us. Important people. The guards had their hands on their holsters, ready to draw their wands in case I harmed the precious woman. My heart was pounding, I was ready to throw up. I could feel my face flushing and no doubt I was trembling like a leaf. But I couldn't let myself faint here. I couldn't really do anything but respond politely. Because if I didn't, I'd be stuck inside this horrible Ministry for the rest of my short and filthy life.

"Fine," I responded, hoping she would walk away. Couldn't she see what she was doing. She looked at me with that smile on her face. Why was she doing this? Surely she knew. Surely she wasn't daft. "How are you, then, Granger."

It wasn't a question, but she still answered it.

"I'm good, Malfoy, thank you for asking," she responded pleasantly, as if we didn't have a hundred armed witches and wizards watching our every move, waiting for me to explode. I was waiting for me to explode. It seemed Granger was the only one who wasn't concerned out of all of us. "Any particular reason you're here at the Ministry? I know you threw away my card-"

So she'd seen that, had she? I blankly pointed to the offices behind her.

"Death Eater checkups, Granger," I muttered gruffly.

She blushed.

It made me think, really. Had she meant to humiliate me like that? Surely her memory was perfect. She knew I worked for the Greengrasses as an errand boy. She'd seen it on my identification card. I'd told her it myself. What else would a poor ex-Death Eater be doing in the middle of the day at the Ministry of Magic? Certainly not working here. They didn't want people like me working at such a prestigious place like this, the pigs that they were. I didn't belong here. What could possibly have been going on in that pretty little head of hers? That I'd willingly have sought her out?

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she almost whispered.

I just nodded. What else was I supposed to do? Thank her? Walk away? Say nothing? I didn't know. I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head and I really didn't want to turn around to face the crowd. So I nodded again and she just shook her head like she was a flimsy leaf. And I couldn't bear to see the pity in her eyes.

It was one thing to be humiliated and scorned, another thing to be felt sorry for. I could hardly stand it. I almost wanted to grab her by the throat and make her say sorry. _I _didn't need the pity. _She _did. She was the one who was going around walking on the streets and pretending like everything was just bloody fantastic. At least I knew what life was really like. She'd never know what life was like from the bottom, because even though she was a mudblood, she'd never seen what the bottom really looked like, had she?

No, she was luxurious and I was just dirty.

I had to wait for her to mumble her apologies and leave me alone. I didn't say anything – what the hell was I supposed to say to someone like _Granger _in front of all those people? And eventually, she let me go, figuring I didn't ever want to see the likes of her. Which was partially true, especially at the time. I almost wished she'd followed me out of the back exit of the Ministry of Magic, so that I could ask her all the questions on my mind, so that I could force her to tell me what it was like being on the top and still do such _stupid, _stupid things.

Like talk to someone like me.

As I exited into the back alleyway that was meant for me and the other Death Eaters, I sincerely wished I had a cigarette. But I couldn't even afford those, could I. All I could afford to do was kick around the trash that was littering the grimy floor. And even that I could only do quietly. It'd be my life if a guard came out here and caught me at it. Maybe they'd make me clean it all up for free, and then I truly would be starving.

I let out a shaky breath. I didn't do so well under pressure anymore. I wasn't as strong as I used to be. While there were a million benefits of being complacent, it really shakes your nerves to be the centre of attention again. I really cursed myself for saving Granger and asked myself again: Why would she approach me in front of all those people? Why would she single me out like that? Did she really not know or did she hate me _that _much?

I wouldn't blame her really. I just really wanted to know so I could rip it up into little pieces like her stupid little card and throw it all over my shoulder. Life was hard enough without someone like Granger keeping me up at night.

"Waiting for someone?" I heard behind me.

They'd snuck into the alleyway while I'd been preoccupied. There were four of them, big brawny specimens, and I wasn't sure I'd ever seen them before. The one that had spoken was wearing Auror training robes. The other three were just plain clothed. Maybe they'd been heading home when they'd caught Granger talking to me. Maybe they were just bored.

"No," I said, shaking my head, hoping my voice was even.

I didn't really feel all that even, but I wasn't that scared. It wasn't that odd that these four were here and that the one on my right was flexing his knuckles. It wasn't the _first _time something like this had happened. It probably wouldn't even be the last. The last time I'd had to spend two whole hungry weeks at home from three broken ribs because I couldn't afford a trip to St. Mungos just then. It had been painful. I had never missed having a fully functional wand than I had then.

I had the sense to protest when two of the goons held my arms back. I also had the sense not to scream too loud when the one that had spoken punched me in the gut, then pummeled me like I was a punching bag. It wouldn't do if they left me silenced in this alleyway. As much as I sympathized with Ex Death Eaters – they were my people now – you really didn't want an ex-con to find you. I didn't want to be robbed _and _beaten to death.

"Think you can just talk like that to a Hero and walk away, hm?" he spat in my face. Then he punched me in the jaw. I would be lying if I say I wasn't crying by that point, but believe me when I say I didn't sob. Not once. "Think you can just act like you own the place, you little prick?"

I couldn't tell you how long it lasted. I can say for sure that they all took turns until I vomited on one of them. It wasn't anything different than usual, really. They kicked me where it really hurt and spat on me. Then they left, figuring there wasn't too much more damage they could do. By that point, I really couldn't care because I really couldn't feel anything. It was all just numb.

So I rolled over, curled up, and went to sleep.

/

It wasn't easy getting up let alone getting home when I regained consciousness. For a second, I forgot who I was, where I was, and where I was supposed to be going. It was dark, I was bloody and aching and sore, and laying in the gutter of an abandoned alleyway. It didn't take me long to figure out what had happened. I hadn't gone back to work, so the Greengrasses probably thought I was dead or in jail. It wasn't that uncommon. Maybe they would have to fire me tomorrow for skipping work.

It was agony to move, but that was something that I had become accustomed to.

You know, it's really funny. I could tell you all about how I forced myself to get up, clinging to the dirty brick walls of the Ministry alleyway. I could tell you exactly how painful it was to walk all the way home. It wasn't like I had access to the floo network. I couldn't apparate. I didn't have money for a muggle cab. It was a really painful walk, yes, it really was. I could even tell you about how much I bled out until I was able to go home, sit in my pitiful little shower, and cry like a little baby.

But really, why would you care about something like that when even _I _don't care? I really didn't care, not when the sun rose up and I hadn't slept at all. Really, that night was nothing remarkable. In fact, I'd had a lot worse and a lot worse would happen in the future. It was all just routine and when you have a routine, you should submit to it. You never _deviate _because if you do, you'll end up like I did, right here, right in this bloody mess.

No, what _was _remarkable about that night was that I didn't regret a second of it. Sure, I'd gotten beaten to a bloody pulp and I'd had to set my own nose without any magic and only cheap firewhisky for painkillers, and I'd degraded myself to crying like I was that boy from sixth year told to kill the greatest wizard who ever lived. But I didn't regret any of that happening because I realized that something different had happened to me.

I hadn't been arrested. I had talked to a member of the famed golden trio and hadn't been hexed or cursed. I'd exited the Ministry. I'd woken up with my pay and identification papers still in my pocket.

And Granger had smiled at me.

She had _smiled _at _me. _

You get pissed on all the time if you're a Death Eater and you're poor. You're going to get harassed and thrown in the street, just because of who you are. And they're going to do whatever it is they can to ruin your life. But she didn't. She hadn't. It was stupid of me to engage the idea, but she had _smiled _at me. Maybe it was the firewhisky, but when I fell asleep at dawn, all I could think about was her. And her smile. And the fact that she still couldn't tame her bushy hair after all of these years.

I allowed myself to dream, which is the most dangerous thing a person in my position could ever do. You can never dream because then you'll have _hope. _And hope is the slowest poison of all. Because if you let it grow, eventually it will fester. And if it festers and spreads and _dies, _there is no god and no magic that can save you.

You see, that night while I was all bloodied and bruised, I let myself hope. And really, it's because of that stupid hope that I got into any of the mess in the first place. First, it was curiosity.

Then, even after those four stupid men tried to kick some sense into me, I allowed myself to fall for it. For Granger of all people. For the one person who I should never have set my eyes on. I began to hope Granger would smile at me again. It was stupidity. It was the worst possible thing that could ever happen.

But nevertheless, the seed had been planted. And it grew.

_Continuously. _

Really, I should've just quit while I was ahead.

**A/N: Of all the chapters I've written for this and of all my planning, I think this one was my favourite to write. I'm not too sure why. Please drop a line and let me know what you think! I'd really appreciate the feedback before I start writing the next chapter. **

**Until next week, here's another spoiler: **

"Malfoy," she gasped.

_Yes, Granger, _I wanted to say, _it is I. Voldemort. Risen from the dead! Fear me, you little chit! _Shake a fist at her for emphasis. Gods, what had come over me? But I didn't engage in such ridiculous behaviour, obviously. That would've been the dead of me, quite literally.


	6. What I Should've Done Was Nothing

**A/N: **This is actually a really short chapter. I'm not exactly sure why that is. Maybe because it's partially filler? But I really did need it to get things moving to the right direction. In any case, I hope you enjoy! I'm posting this a little earlier to make up for posting so late in the day these past two weeks.

Thank you as always for everyone who has been reading, but especially to you lovely reviewers who really motivate me to update every week. ENJOY!

**Disclaimer: **I only own the plot. Everything belongs to their appropriate owners.

**Rating: Rated T **

**CHAPTER FIVE: WHAT I SHOULD'VE DONE WAS NOTHING **

**JUNE 2001**

"What have they done to you?" she screeched.

I hadn't been facing her at the time, but I knew who it was. Her voice was unmistakable, really. Something akin to bells. Astoria Greengrass, my childhood crush. Not to say I didn't like her anymore, of course I did. Just not in that way, really. In another lifetime, I would've married the girl. But now, she – like everyone else –was above me. Not that she would ever acknowledge something like that. Not to herself and not to me, no matter how many times I told the girl to leave me alone.

When she came closer to me, conjuring up some ice to calm the swelling of my eye, I let her. It was probably stupid, but I was a weak person. I did tell you that about myself, didn't I? I'm a weak, weak person. I do things that aren't good for me, even when I know I shouldn't. People say it's natural to crave companionship once in a while, to want someone to take care of you when things aren't going so well. I say to all those people, shouldn't you be worrying about staying alive?

Actually, at that moment, I was more worried about her father catching me and firing me for being anywhere near his daughter. But then, it was only because of Astoria that her father had hired me in the first place. I knew her. I'm rather sure she had begged on my behalf. And for that, I was indebted to her. I'd probably be rotting in the streets or in Azkaban if it wasn't for her.

Maybe it was out of that gratitude that I let her hold the ice to my face, stroking my hair as if I were her lover. I wasn't, obviously, even though she wanted it to be true. Not that I would've minded if I were. I would've quite liked that, it would've been some kind of bliss. But girls like her had no business associating with boys like me – destitute, bruised, and poor.

But I let her touch me, anyway.

"Who did this to you?" she asked. She might've been crying. I didn't bother looking up.

"Don't know," I muttered. Did she really have to talk? "Never met them before."

"_Why_?" she demanded. "What happened? What did you do?"

Of course it was _what did you do_? Of course it was something _I _had to have done. In that second, I almost resented her. She didn't know what it was like to be on this side of the stick, either. She was still on top, of course, because her family were blood traitors. They'd left when they'd had the chance. Of course she didn't know what it was like to be picked on for no bloody reason, to be grabbed and hauled and beaten just because you'd looked at someone the wrong way. For me, it was all diffidence. She still had the security.

But I guess I had done something other than existing and breathing. I'd talked and looked at Granger. I'd probably caused her distress, if I remembered the look on her face. She had apologized for humiliating me, but probably only because she'd done it in public. Gods, was she socially awkward, or what? She had approached the Death Eater. She'd done it to herself. She'd done this to me.

"I spoke to Hermione Granger at the Ministry. After my Death Eater check in."

"You did _what?_" Astoria breathed, shocked. "Why on earth would you-"

So Astoria saw the incredulity of the situation too. I wasn't going crazy.

"I pulled her out of the way of a muggle truck in the street the day I was delivering packages. I don't even know what she was doing there, you know? In the street. She was just walking like the rest of us and I didn't even get to ask why…" I finally looked at Astoria and she was looking at me like I had some kind of death wish, talking nonsense as I was. "And she just approached me, I swear. I don't go _looking _for trouble. You know that. I didn't do any of it on purpose."

Astoria just nodded, stroking my hair back off my forehead. It was too intimate a gesture, but I didn't dare cringe. I didn't want to offend the one person who was sometimes on my side. Sometimes, when it was safe to be and when it suited her purposes, of course. But I wasn't one to complain. Not anymore. These weren't the times to look free friendship in the mouth and punch it out. I couldn't afford to be picky anymore.

"So she had you beaten?" she asked, appalled. The thought horrified her. "Right there in the Ministry?"

"Course not," I admonished. Who would ever think something like that of sweet, innocent _Granger? _She'd never do anything like that, not even to her enemies. "Some trainee Auror and his pals caught me as I was leaving the Ministry."

Astoria just nodded and resumed mothering me, like that was her job, as if any of the things that we were doing were natural. And of course I let her. I _allowed _her to, pretending like I had a choice. If she wanted, she could've done anything to me and I wouldn't have ever said no. What choice did I really have, if we were honestly considering it? She was just a lesser Granger, someone I had to obey because if I didn't, things just wouldn't end well for me.

Somewhere in my pain addled mind, I almost wished she _was _Granger. But only so I could ask her what she was doing in the street. Nothing more, obviously. Anything beyond that would be absolutely ludicrous.

Wouldn't it?

/

My bruises were purpling when she had appeared in the office, as if she had every right to be there and I didn't. I had been sorting through a pile of heavy boxes, organizing old periodicals that had managed to go haywire in the last office move. The Greengrasses were currently running the Daily Prophet, amongst other things. I suppose the Ministry felt like they could keep an easy eye over them this way. Being their personal errand boy, it fell to me to deal with these annoying inconveniences.

Who really needed hundred year old newspapers organized, anyway?

She didn't even notice me, which was not unusual in the least. I was a shadow, why would someone as prestigious as her notice the likes of me? It wasn't out of the ordinary for important people to walk around and over me, going about their oh so necessary business as if I wasn't even there, regardless of the fact that I had once ruled over their insignificant lives. Now I was the one with the insignificant life, quite literally. I knew this as I was sitting down on my knees and organizing unused papers in dusty boxes that no one would ever need or care about.

Nevertheless, when she didn't notice me, I was both relieved and mildly annoyed. Relieved because, well, hadn't she honestly done enough already? And annoyed because, seriously? She _had _done more than enough already and that was frustrating. The least she could do was _not _remind me of how pathetically insignificant I had become.

But honestly, I really shouldn't have cared. If I knew what was good for me – and I did – I honestly shouldn't have cared.

She asked the snooty receptionist (who made it a point to look down at me through her idiotic glasses as I came in to work every morning) to fetch her Mr. Greengrass. Of course a person like Granger would be polite to a fault while causing misery in my life. And of course the bint that worked in the front would fawn all over her, unbeknownst to Granger. The silly little girl ran in search of my employer.

It was only then that she was looking around, that infuriating smile on her face like nothing could possibly wrong in the world – and what could be wrong in _her _world anyway, except for me? I turned my face away, hoping she wouldn't notice me, which really was a farfetched hope at that point. Later she would tell me that I had intrigued her. I would tell her that she had made me feel more bitter about myself at that point than any Ministry official had in the past three years.

And that was seriously saying something.

I could almost feel her eyes land on the back of my neck. It wasn't the first time I cursed the trademark Malfoy platinum hair. It also wasn't the first time I considered dying it jet black like Potter's. I doubt, though, that it would help much. People could tell what class you were just by the stoup of your shoulders and that alone could make them cross the street away from your sorry self. So I knew she would spot me, immediately, dejectedly slouched on the floor as I was. Though I didn't know just at that moment that it would change everything.

"Draco?" she called over. Damn her curiosity. I pretended like I hadn't heard her like any self respecting person would. "Malfoy?"

It was almost panic inducing, being addressed by Granger. Maybe I really ought to have said hello and have it done with, but I didn't get to make any choices. She made them for me, like everyone else did these days. She began to walk towards me, the little clicking of her clean shoes coming right towards me. Why was I so damn curious about why she was bothering with me at all? I should've been cursing her in my head. I shouldn't have been feeling anything at all, even if it was only innocent curiosity.

"Malfoy," she gasped.

_Yes, Granger, _I wanted to say, _it is I. Voldemort. Risen from the dead! Fear me, you little chit! _Shake a fist at her for emphasis. Gods, what had come over me?

But I didn't engage in such ridiculous behavior, obviously. That would've been the death of me, quite literally. Instead, I just nodded at her as if I had just noticed her standing there just then, and then gone back to my work like a normal human being. What I should've done was nothing. What _she _should've done was to walk away just then, like a normal person would've. But, being the nosy, weird, and determined to ruin my life as she was, she continued to stand there, invading my space.

"What happened to you?" she demanded, as if she had a right to demand anything from me. "What happened to your _face?" _

She moved even closer.

"I see you still haven't learned any manners. Don't you know it's _rude _to stare?"

It was out of my mouth before I could even register it, she had that kind of effect on people. Really, I'd spent the last couple of years in absolute servitude. Those kinds of thoughts were absolutely foreign to me. I had been _molded _after all! And all it had taken to snap me back to my miserable self were a few encounters with this annoying girl. I should've seen the signs. I should've run away as soon as I could. I shouldn't have done anything at all.

She didn't look like she was going to punch me in the face for saying something so rude, though. In fact, she seemed like she _expected _something like that from me – being rude. I looked around and it seemed like no one else had heard the exchange, so perhaps I was safe. Perhaps I _wouldn't _be dragged out of the street and lose what little I had managed to gather as mine for insulting someone as high standing as Granger.

"Is Greengrass doing this to you, Malfoy?" she asked suspiciously, as if it really mattered either way. "Because if he is, that's completely wrong! Let alone _illegal!" _

I snorted and turned my back on her, returning to sorting through the piles of dusty boxes. That was really rich, coming from Granger. Illegal, my arse. As if anyone cared what happened to Death Eater scum like me. Really, stuff like this was so common, so every day, so _normal, _that people didn't even really blink an eye when it happened. Rights and privileges were reserved for witches and wizards that didn't associate with nose-less freaks.

But I highly doubted Granger had gotten the memo. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to be her house elf if it was the last thing I did. I had that much pride left in me, I realized. She couldn't take that away from me. I would never accept her pity.

Just then, Greengrass appeared, panting as if he had just run all the way there. "Ms. Granger!"

"Greengrass," she responded coolly. "You and I must have a word."

Greengrass paled and he had good reason to be afraid. If Granger spoke to _anyone _with less than a bright smile, it was usually a cause for worry. As they exited the room, I could've sworn that she gave me a worried glance.

Surely her coldness had nothing to do with me?

/

"Malfoy, get in here!"

It was late. Really late. Almost midnight, in fact, but I was used to working these kinds of hours. You never knew when you would need an errand boy, after all. So, I came before eight in the morning and left any time he chose to go home. Sometimes, we didn't go home at all.

It pissed me off that I knew Granger had left his office exactly three and a half hours ago. I shouldn't have been paying attention to things like that, let alone have been aware of the way her eyes had passed over me. I could literally _feel _the pity in her eyes. I couldn't fathom what for though – was it because of the inconsequential bruises on my face or what I had become in general? Both were equally pathetic.

Pathetic and unnoticeable. That was why I hadn't thought that Mr. Greengrass would want anything but to have me run some errand or another, something that just _couldn't _wait until the morning. What else could he want? Nothing to do with me in particular, obviously.

I was wrong, like usual.

"Come in and sit down, Malfoy," he said without looking up at me. He was as resigned as I was surprised. When I didn't immediately, he made an impatient, irritated noise in the back of his throat and beckoned me forward. "Go on, Malfoy. Sit down, then."

He didn't leave any room for argument and I complied immediately. Obeying had become second nature, there was nothing else to it. Apprehension grew within me as he just sat there, staring at me as if I were too much trouble to trifle with. I could see the pity there, too. There was always an inkling of involuntary pity whenever he happened to stare at me – which was, thankfully, rare. In another life, Mr. Greengrass would've thrown himself at my father's feet in order to create a match between myself and one of his daughters. Now, I was nothing and he felt sort of bad about that.

But not _too _bad. After all, he could be where I was, and no one in their right minds would want that.

"Hermione Granger was in here earlier accusing me of abusing my own workers," he said to me very seriously.

I paused for a second, processing the words that had been directed at me. I had to repeat them slowly in my own head to make sense of them. When I did, I burst out laughing. The image was just too much to compute. Mr. Greengrass – old, portly, kindly Mr. Greengrass – being accused of roughing me up by _Granger_ of all people. It was the most hilarious thing I'd heard in years. The man could barely lift a box, how on earth was he supposed to muck up my face?

But Greengrass wasn't laughing and I immediately composed myself in fear of offending him. "I'm sorry, sir. That's… ludicrous."

"Ludicrous! She stood before me and…" He shook his head and then rubbed his hands all over his tired, old face. "We can't afford those kinds of allegations, Draco."

It had been a long while since he'd addressed me by my first name. It reminded me eerily of my childhood, when this very man had catered to my father's every whim. Usually it was either Malfoy or boy or even _you there! _Never Draco. No one but Granger and Astoria had called me that in so long. It almost hurt my ears. I imagined them bleeding from the abuse.

"Yes, sir," I forced myself to say to him. I had to force myself to put on the most solemn voice I possessed, which wasn't too hard.

"We've worked so hard to get here, you understand? I won't have you destroying this family, Malfoy. Not after all this…" He trailed off, looking at me with blank eyes. They were the dullest eyes I'd ever seen, withered away by years of servitude and fear. I wondered if that's what my eyes looked like – blank. "If you get into another infraction with the Ministry, with _anyone,_ I'm going to have to be forced to remove you from under my employment."

"Yes, sir." To my credit, all I did was nod. I didn't gasp. I held it all in. "I understand."

Goddamn Granger. She was always ruining good things for people. I pushed to feel an undercurrent of loathing next to my fear. Who did she think she was, coming in here and running her stupid pretty mouth like that? Her idiotic conception of justice was going to have me starving on the streets. Her ignorant morality was going to get me killed. I had to hate her for it. I had to physically force myself to hate her for it, fill my belly with the disgust that I knew should've been there. Or even better, what I should have felt was nothing.

But I _did _feel something ridiculous then, and it wasn't apathy or hatred like it should've been. Rather, I was filled with a weird kind of marvel at her stupid actions. Sure, it was probably going to cost me dearly, but I couldn't help but appreciate the courage it must take for someone to stand up for someone else for no reason other than they just could.

I wanted to taste that kind of freedom. I wanted to taste that courage, too, let it brew in my veins. I could feel these notions changing me from the inside out and I knew that it was a really bad idea, even as it was happening, even as I was transforming because of Hermione Granger of all people.

I wanted the freedom to act like her. What I should have wanted was nothing at all.

Greengrass must have noticed this transformation, for he scrutinized me closely. In the end, he didn't fire me right then. Maybe it would be a little too hard for him to find another errand boy that he could trust under such short notice. After all, Greengrass knew I wasn't going to murder him when we worked alone these late hours. He knew I wouldn't kidnap, murder, and rape his daughters. He knew I wasn't a thief. I could see him calculating the trouble I was worth right then.

I must've won for he reached under his desk and gave me a bag that was filled with bread and cheese. And then he tossed a sickle at me.

"Make us both a sandwich then get yourself home, boy," he said gruffly, as if annoyed I hadn't already done so. "Make sure you _shower._"

I couldn't help the grin that spread over my face as I left his office.

**A/N: Please take the time to review and let me know what you thought! I'd really appreciate the feedback. **

**Until next week, here's something to tide you over: **

"Theo?" I whispered, a strange feeling twisting my gut. "Is that really you?"

Theodore Nott managed to spit up some blood, giving me an unnervingly lucid stare. "Came back for me. Didn't expect that from you, Malfoy."


	7. Introducing, Theodore Nott

**A/N: **Hello lovely people! I shan't lie to you all – this chapter almost didn't get done. I've just been very very busy with life and all that. I've also had some family come in from out of town and have been busy entertaining them. As a result, even though this chapter isn't _short, _it's definitely not covering all of the plot points that I had in mind.

Thank you as always to the lovely people who reviewed and to everyone who is reading.

**Rating: **Rated T for violence.

**CHAPTER SIX: INTRODUCING, THEODORE NOTT**

It was a Sunday, one of those rare Sundays that Mr. Greengrass took a half day off. I rarely have days off, you see. Living as a Death Eater was always a full time job, even when the big old snake was around. So that half day was a big deal for me. It was summer time, it was sunny, and I had a couple of hours all to myself if I so chose. It was a gift and it almost made me smile to myself.

Well, if I'm being completely honest, I left the Daily Prophet offices with a little bit of trepidation. I was still a bit put off with Granger's involvement in my life – for all I knew she was just lurking around the corners, just waiting for me to put my guard down before she came bouncing in and ruining everything for me. Of course she'd show up on my one good day off. I hadn't seen a day off in at least a full year now.

But it was ridiculous. I was unimportant and Granger probably had better things to do. What I was more concerned about was being accosted in the streets again. I couldn't afford it – I didn't have the money to go to St. Mungos – and neither could Mr. Greengrass. He'd made it clear that he would fire me and that was something I really didn't want to risk.

Where would I go without that useless dead end job? Probably to Azkaban.

As it was, I didn't see Granger at all that day, not that I didn't keep a sharp eye out for her. It even makes me ashamed to say that I thought about her constantly. How could I not, though? It's not like there was anything else in my life going for me. She was new and she was fresh. It was hard to focus on anything _besides _the enigma that was Granger.

I thought about what she could be doing on a Sunday. She probably had the day off too. But of course, she probably had many days off. She could do whatever she wanted with her life – unlike myself – and be happy. Again, unlike myself. Oddly, that didn't even make me bitter. It just made me curious. What would she do in her spare time? Try to befriend other Death Eaters, or was that spot just reserved for me? Was she sound asleep in her little Gryffindor bed, or was she out walking on the streets with us underserving folk?

And why on _earth _did she insist on walking on the street where any manner of thing could happen to her?

Like getting crushed by a muggle truck.

Whatever the case was with Granger, l wasn't going to think about it... The day was too bright, too free, and too open for me to be so caught up in things that obviously did not concern me. Rather than dwelling, I just wanted to be for once. I didn't think of why this was the case, why l had this urge to be in the open. I couldn't. It didn't matter anyway, that usually on my rare days off I would always catch up on my sleep. I didn't even dare to tell my pesky subconscious that Granger was the reason for my need for change, even on this inconsequential level. I knew it. My subconscious knew it. Everyone had to have known it.

The sunlight was a balm to my soul, honestly. It was like I'd been asleep all of these horrible years, never brave enough to look up and really question anything around me – not the brutality, nor the injustice, but especially not the way my life was flashing by me without my consent. I couldn't change the world, and I wasn't even about to try to do something as stupid as that, but what I could do was stay awake and remember to breathe. I could remember to be refreshing and different and always remember to keep things changing.

It was odd to me that this was all because of _her. _

It was almost ironic really. I'd spent half my life trying to make her and her kind miserable. Like absolutely miserable to the point where I'd participated in a movement to kill the lot of them off. And now, now when I was miserable and insignificant, it was her, the very one I'd wanted to stomp out under my shoe for just _existing _as a child, here she was changing my life around. I was supposed to hate her, not that I was capable of that kind of emotion anymore, and the woman wasn't even aware of the integral role she had in my life.

I mean, she was barely aware of me. She just _was _who she was, and there was nothing more to it or her kindness. It made me feel like maybe I deserved it. All of it. Not that I could very well go around saying things like that. Something like that could start a riot in a climate like the one I lived in.

I don't know how long I walked for. It must have been forever because my cheeks had become flushed, my skin a horrible shade of red if I was going to be brutally honest. I'd always been unattractively pale. But these things didn't concern me. Nothing concerned me today, on this glorious day off in the sun. I let my mind wander to unnecessary dangerous things and let my feet take me wherever they would. It was probably stupidly dangerous to wander. It was also probably incredibly negligent of me to waste my energy like that when I should've been resting. But I was reckless. I wanted change. I wanted something different to pass the time.

And why not? Why the hell not?

With that attitude, I ended up at Diagon Alley. Not the main street, mind you. The grand shops were well beyond the likes of little old me. Yeah, I used to prance up and down the place as if I'd owned it – and let's be honest, I _had _owned it– but now, I didn't even have the status to use the front doors. Then again, that day I was more than positive. I was just happy that there were some shops that would take us, shops that probably couldn't do without the money. It was at the very least one step up from Knockturn Alley.

With my Ministry approved pay stub, I'd decided to get my shopping done, there wasn't much else for it. It's not like I could've done much else with my day besides go home and sleep. And I had too much energy, too much stubborn _hope _to do that. But a person like me, well, I had eyes on me all the time, every second of the day. I couldn't exactly go about entertaining myself in any which way possible. No Quidditch, no Flourish and Bolts, not much of anything, really. I think I was also banned from the various pet shops along Diagon Alley, but I couldn't be sure since I hadn't visited one in years. I had enough trouble feeding myself let alone another animal.

But somehow, this was enough for me. The sun was, after all, shining. I was still breathing. The world was still spinning on, and until it gave me indication that it intended to destroy itself, I was just going to go on pretending like everything was normal. As if this was the way things always were. I'd been beaten down to the point where this wasn't even hard. I barely blinked an eye. When I reached the shadier part of Diagon Alley meant for Death Eaters like myself, I even had a small smile on my face.

Does that seem twisted to you?

It wasn't meant to be, though, any of it. I didn't know it at the time, but that moment was probably when all of the crap in my life _really _began.

The generally quiet part of the street was startled when a wisp of a man was thrown out of a shop with a crash. There was a scuffle where a portly man – presumably the shop keeper – came out and began beating down on the emaciated boy, yelling all kind of obscenities. I don't know what came over me. This kind of injustice was entirely normal. In fact, I had been on the receiving end of it too many times to count in these past years. But that day, that stupid hopeful day, I just couldn't bear to see it. Not to myself and not to anyone else. So, instead of not caring about the fate of the Death Eater like a good citizen, I walked over to the spectacle, attempting to make the giant man stop his abuse.

"Please, sir," I pleaded, very much used to belittling myself by this point. "What seems to be the problem?"

The politeness always threw them. I don't know why. Maybe they thought the lot of us were barbarians, us former Death Eaters. Maybe they thought we couldn't be reasoned with. But I had learned that if I pretended that I was subservient, I could maybe get the unsuspecting ones to consider leaving me alone. Course, this was the first time in years I'd intervened for someone else. It was the most unselfish thing I'd done in my life.

"This scoundrel has been stealing from me!" the man seethed, aiming a kick at the boy's ribs. "I ought to call the Ministry on you, you filthy rat! You _Death Eater!" _

At those words, no one dared approach the situation. I would've left, honestly, but I'd already involved myself and it was too late. If the Ministry was indeed going to be involved, I was going to be locked up before the day was done. The sparse crowd of shoppers had dispersed, leaving me and the wheezing boy to deal with the angry shopkeeper.

"There's no need for that, sir…" I tried to plead, trying to get the man to look at me instead of the bag of bones that was clearly aggravating him. I almost cringed at the sight. "Uh… My friend here, he was just waiting for me. I'm sure that this is just a… a misunderstanding."

The shopkeeper's eyes bugged out, looking at me as if I were a traitor to the realm as well. "You know this scumbag, boy?"

I began to tremble under the wrath of the shopkeeper, who looked like he was about to march inside and floo the Auror department himself. I couldn't have that. I wasn't going to go to prison for anyone or anything. Before he could take any sort of drastic action, I dug my beloved pay stub out of my pocket, shoving the slip into the man's unsuspecting hand. Of course, that surprised him even more. He had, after all, thought we were dishonest bastards not even worth the dirt underneath his shoes. _Obviously _we were just thieves to him, attempting to scam him out of an honest living. Of course we knew nothing of what such an endeavour would entail.

"You see, I had just forgotten my earnings at home and… and my friend here," I said, cringing, not daring to glance down at the prone figure somewhere near my feet, "must have begun gathering our supplies without me."

The man stared at me as if evaluating my story until finally he nodded. I couldn't believe my luck, shaking from the unnerving experience, the close escape from something that was probably worse than death. He was still glaring at me, as if it was my fault I'd caused him all of this trouble and that he ought to get rid of me just for being a nuisance. But that was okay. Most people looked at me that way from day to day, anyway. I was just grateful that I wasn't horrifically disfigured at this point.

Stupid me and stupid need to interfere. This could also be blamed on Granger and her stupid influence. But why the hell was I still thinking about Granger at a serious time like this?

"But that one stays outside!" the angry shopkeeper growled in annoyance.

"Yes sir," I agreed easily.

I didn't even dare look back to see if the person I'd risked my freedom for was even alive, laying prone in the dirt. I was more than ready to just leave him there if need be, if I was going to be honest. I hadn't lied about being selfish earlier. But apparently this selfish tendency seemed to appease the shopkeeper, who just nodded at me. I'd passed his inspection, though this did not mean that he would extend any kind of kindness towards me. They never did.

It was just pure coincidence that the shop happened to be a bakery. Or, thinking back, maybe it wasn't that much of a coincidence. The boy/man/person had looked weak and hungry. Maybe that was the reason to choose this particular shop, even if stealing as a former Death Eater was the stupidest thing someone could do. But at least I wouldn't have to hand over my monthly earnings for something stupid. Like cat food.

If I'd have had to live on cat food for a month, I'd have gone and murdered the man myself.

In the end, my meagre earnings only earned me two loaves of bread, some slightly wilted vegetables, and a dozen cans of soup. But that was alright. I even had three galleons and a sickle to add to my savings, which was really just a sock that I kept under my pillow. The shopkeeper was even nice enough to package my things in a bag instead of throwing my purchases in the street. _That _was also a common occurrence, especially if us convicts had irritated them.

When I left to collect my supposed friend – more like unwitting _burden _– under the watchful eye of the shopkeeper, I nearly dropped my groceries into the dirt myself.

"Theo?" I whispered, a strange feeling twisting in my gut. "Is that really you?"

Theodore Nott managed to spit up some blood, giving me an unnervingly lucid stare. "Came back for me. Didn't expect that from you, Malfoy."

I was in some sort of shock, seeing what had become of my old friend. Well, we'd never been close, but we'd shared a dormitory and classes for seven years and had had Death Eater fathers. Hooking his arm around my shoulders, I hauled his unresisting body up off the ground. I didn't dare let go of him, for once he was on his feet he swayed dangerously. And maybe I thought he might disappear on me. I hadn't seen Nott since the end of the war, you see. It was some kind of twisted coincidence finding him here and at my mercy.

There wasn't much else to it. I couldn't just leave him there. The scene that had been made had given us undue attention, and if I'd let him on his own I had no doubt that he'd be dead by the end of the day. Or worse. There was always worse where people like us were concerned. I didn't have another choice. I took him back to my dingy flat and he came along, probably realizing that resisting was futile. Besides, it didn't look like there was anywhere else he had to go.

Once he was safely seated in my bed, I offered him the remnants of my cheap whisky. Looking at him and observing the way he'd hobbled, he was injured. And I'd have to do something about it. Clearly I was the only thing between him and death. Or between him and sleeping on the streets, which, let's face it, is pretty much the same thing.

There wasn't much I could do in the end. The whisky probably numbed the pain, but I couldn't heal him much at all. The limitations the Ministry had placed on my wand were too great. And even then, I didn't know enough healing magic to help him. He had four broken ribs, a broken nose (which I set as best as I could), at least six broken fingers (which I'd done a pretty poor job setting), a cracked knee, and probably some internal bleeding. I couldn't be sure about that.

But the worst of it was the hunger. I could see all of his bones. I'd thought _I _had had it bad, but clearly Nott hadn't eaten a decent meal in months. It was no wonder he'd risked Azkaban for a bite of food. Frankly, I just didn't know how he'd made it so far. Looking at him raised emotions in me I didn't know I had. I was so pitiful I nearly offered him all of my monthly rations.

He must've known that it was all I had, because he only took a meagre amount. To this day, looking at his starved face, I didn't know how he managed to restrain himself.

"Why are you doing this, Malfoy?" he asked me after he'd eaten his small portion.

"Giving you food?" I asked, glaring at his weakened body pointedly. "I don't want you stabbing me in my sleep for my bread, is all."

But my sarcasm didn't do anything for him. In fact, he didn't even seem fazed.

"Why did you stop that bastard from killing me?" he pushed on.

"Would you prefer I hadn't?" I asked, raising my brow.

He shrugged. And that was how I knew Nott had given up all hope in this world. He hadn't gone into that shop to steal because he couldn't control his hunger. He'd done it so the shopkeeper would beat him to death. And if I hadn't intervened, that would've been a real possibility. I saw that now. Even with my meagre help, it was still a possibility.

For the first time since my sentence had been given to me by the Wizengamot, I felt raging anger course through my veins. It was odd because it wasn't even anger for myself or my own condition. Looking at Nott's dead eyes did something to me. I wanted to tell him, no, that this wasn't bloody acceptable and that I wasn't going to let him clock out like this because goddamnit we are _Slytherins. _

But then I remembered that Slytherins are all cowards and, well, I was one of them, wasn't I? That quieted the rage very easily. But it wasn't enough. None of it would ever be enough now. That morning, I'd been filled with hope for change, hope because I'd seen something in Hermione Granger. And now, life was giving me an answer in the form of a half-starved Theodore Nott. It was telling me to give up like he had.

But every time I looked into Nott's dull eyes, I saw Granger's warm ones, all curious about why I'd torn up her goddamn stupid card. How I could reject her help, _her _help, the golden girl of all the magical world. For some reason, I just couldn't accept it. Any of it.

"I'm going to help you, Nott," I said to him with conviction I didn't know I had. "Things aren't going to get better, but you and I are going to make it as best as we can."

He looked at me like I was crazy, like I'd lost my bloody mind for saying something so hopeful. And maybe I was. Maybe Granger's odd actions had messed with my brain _that _much. I just couldn't believe there wasn't enough room in the world for Nott and myself. Especially when people like Granger could stoop so low as to walk in the street among us. Surely, if that could happen, _anything _could happen. Anything at all.

I ended up sleeping next to Nott that night, though I don't think he minded my uncomfortable mattress. I'm rather sure he'd been sleeping on the floor the past few years of his life. I would've slept on the floor to give the guy more space and comfort or what not, but I'm rather sure my flat was infested with termites and I only owned three pairs of undamaged clothes that I couldn't afford to ruin by sleeping on the floor.

"You had better not try groping me in my sleep," I warned him as sternly as I could. "Or I'll hex you right back to where I found you."

He rolled his eyes in disgust, sarcasm rolling of his tongue, "I'll try my best, Malfoy."

I couldn't help but smile to the ceiling. How could I not? It had sounded so much like the Theodore Nott that had roamed the halls of Hogwarts of old.

/

That week and the week after, I got what I had been hoping for, though perhaps in a roundabout way. Nott stayed in my apartment with me and it _was _a change. Not exactly the change that I had asked for, yes, but change nonetheless. I shan't lie. At first it was really awkward and what not. I hadn't spoken amicably with anyone for prolonged periods of time since the end of the war. And now here I was, eating, talking, and sleeping next to this man that I'd known for nearly all my life, spending every spare second I had with him.

He was still gravely injured, of course, and there was nothing I could do about that except spend all of my measly savings to buy him another bottle of cheap firewhisky to numb the pain. I knew he appreciated it by the look on his face and the way he tried to ration it, telling me he was going to save me half the bottle if it was the last thing he did.

I'd never seen anyone have so much fortitude. It was nearly sickening to watch.

I still don't know why I cared so much. He was just some guy that I'd known, you know? I didn't have any obligation to protect him, help him, try and heal him. But hell, those entire two weeks I spent trying to figure out how to heal him and look for job prospects for the bloke. I told him it was only because I didn't want to continue sharing my bed and limited rations of food with him (not that he ate much of anything, which only served to piss me off. How was he going to get better if he refused to eat?) But the both of us knew better.

Fortune smiled upon him in the end in the most unexpected of ways. Though you probably can _guess _what happened. I probably don't even need to tell you. Everything is obvious with hindsight, even though I couldn't see or understand it back then.

That's right. Granger came to the rescue like she always does. With everything and everyone she gave a damn for.

It was rather random and happened on an innocuous Thursday. I still remember the day because it was just so _random_. I still can't wrap my mind around the little things like that. Anyway, I'd walked to work as per usual, thinking about Nott's predicament (_our _predicament) and what on earth I'd do about it. I had been just about to enter the buildings of the Daily Prophet when she'd called out to me. I'd been so absorbed with my thoughts that I hadn't even seen her standing there off to the side of the entrance.

"Hello Malfoy," she said rather timidly, as if she was afraid to startle me or something of the sort.

"Hello…"

"How are you doing?" she asked pleasantly enough.

I'm not proud to admit that I just stood there, staring at her like an open mouthed idiot. But you have to understand the absurdity of the situation. I'd tormented the girl for what, six years or something? I'd participated in a war that had tried to kill off her and all her kind. And then just last week she'd gone and almost gotten me fired. So you see, I just didn't understand how she could stand there, look at me with that bloody amazing forgiving smile on her face and talk to me like we were actually acquainted.

She seemed to understand that though, for she quickly shook her head. "Yes, well, I'm sure you're very busy…"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said, my manners kicking in finally. It had been years since I'd needed them, but they were still there. I just hadn't ever thought I'd need them to interact with the greatest mudblood of them all. "How are you, then, Granger?"

She seemed relieved that I'd even asked.

"I'm great, thanks," she said with that smile again. It was a very suspicious smile, especially since it was directed at me. "I'm actually here to see you. That is… I have a job for you."

That definitely threw me. "A job?"

"Yeah! I mean, yes…a job, that is, I mean, if you're interested. I know Greengrass isn't paying you that much and the Ministry, that is…" she stumbled, flustered, and flushing to the roots of her hair. Something deep inside of me told me I ought to smirk at her and ridicule her for standing there like she was, but my years of post-war subservience stopped me. "I'm going to Bulgaria for Ministry business and I would like you to be part of the group that accompanies me."

For the longest time I didn't say anything and we just stood there in awkward silence. If I had been consumed with curiosity before, I hadn't known the true meaning of the word. She had me floored. First with the street walking and then the conversation at the Ministry and now _this? _She wanted me to work for her? As if I hadn't suffered enough indignity all these years, now she wanted me to be her errand boy? But she probably didn't see it that way. She probably thought she was doing me a bloody favour since I was so weak and poor and down trodden in life.

"Why?" I finally asked her.

She seemed startled that I had even bothered to consider her. Maybe she thought I'd just turn my back and walk away (like I should have) but I couldn't. I had to know. I had to just consider her so I could sleep at night. The mystery was just killing me.

"Well, you saved my life, Malfoy," she said with a shrug, as if it was obvious. "And, like I said, Mr. Greengrass isn't paying you all that much and I'm going to Bulgaria for the Pureblood Solution conferences. So having you there would actually be beneficial and what not…"

She continued to prattle on and list every single reason under the moon, but I didn't understand any of it. Pureblood Solution conference? I had no idea what she was talking about at the time. All I had heard was _saved my life _and _would be beneficial to have you. _This, at least, would work in my favour. I didn't know what possessed me, but I rudely cut her off.

"Say if I come with you," I asked her slowly, testing my luck. After all, propositioning someone like her could easily land me in Azkaban before I could even say the words I'm sorry. "What's in it for me?"

"I'm willing to triple your salary and offer you benefits that I know Greengrass isn't," she said as if it were something she had considered thoroughly before approaching him.

She looked like she was going to go on a rant about Mr. Greengrass's employment policies but I had different ideas.

"I'll agree to your terms, provided you do something for me first," I said with more confidence than I'd felt in years.

"And what's that?" she asked with a raised brow. Just curiosity, not an ounce of hatred or suspicion on her face. That's what sealed the deal for me. It was the start of the best and worst time of my life.

"Come with me," I said.

**A/N: So, what did you think? I'd really appreciate the feedback before I continue writing! **

**Here is a preview for the next chapter: **

"So be it!" I mimicked hotly. "What did you want me to do, hm? Let you bloody die on my bed? What would you mother say, you ungrateful prick!"

"My mother's _dead,_" he seethed. "And you're worse than dead come tomorrow. Who knows what she's going to make you do?"

"It's Granger," I reminded him. "She's… not like the others."

**To my anonymous reviewer with no name: **While I can't comment specifically on Hermione's marital status or her life after Draco, I can assure you that this won't be one of those "annoying"/disappointing stories where her life just stagnates. Thank you for reviewing!


	8. Departure

**A/N: **I'm posting this chapter early for all the lovely reviews you guys posted. It made writing this chapter a million times quicker for some reason! So, my greatest thanks. My week has been difficult beyond this. Real life has a way of sucking the energy right out of you and I'm experiencing this drain as I prepare to post this chapter up. At least this routine and speaking with you guys is one happiness that I can always count on.

And on we go.

**Rating: **Rated T for mature themes.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: DEPARTURE**

"Oh my god!" Granger exclaimed.

I honestly didn't blame her for being horrified and disgusted as she obviously was. Just being in my dingy little flat in the dingy part of town that I could afford to live in was probably mentally disturbing enough. The state of Nott on my extremely tiny little cot, all bruised and battered with only my threadbare blanket wrapped around him… well, it's safe to say I was sufficiently mortified at having Granger there. But there was nothing I could do, really. It just had to be done.

"Yeah, I apologize for the location," I said, hoping to gloss over that sore, embarrassing topic. "I just couldn't risk moving him, you see. Not quite sure about the extent of the damage and…"

But Granger didn't really seem to hear me, her gaze concentrating solely on Nott with an intensity I hadn't seen in years. It made me slightly envious of the man, though he was out of it. All he'd had to eat in a the past week was soup, bread, and alcohol, so I couldn't really blame him. I suppose I should've been happy that Granger barely noticed my poverty. That was at least a bright side to all of this indignity. I could only imagine her taking back her offer to work with her after she saw the state I lived in. It was pathetic and entirely too vain, especially since my so-called friend was dying right before the both of us.

She was performing what looked like diagnostic spells, not that I would know anything about that. I hadn't learned much healing magic, hadn't ever felt the need to. My mother had always been a sufficient healer when I'd lived at the Manor under the Dark Lord's rule. Granger, on the other hand, probably had needed every spell she could get her hands on.

The thought of that made me cringe, though she didn't notice, so that was entirely alright.

"What _happened _to him?" she asked me randomly in between what I assumed was fixing Nott's extremely damaged rib cage.

"Uh…" I hadn't expected her to speak to me, so I was naturally startled. I even had to clear my throat. "Well, when I found him, he was being beaten by a shopkeeper, you know… down by the end of Diagon Alley? Course, can't tell you if it was the start of it or not. Nott's got a bit of a death wish."

"I'm right here, you sorry prick," Nott growled, grimacing in pain. He had finally woken up, opening an eye to glare at me. When he caught sight of Granger, leaning over him, brandishing her wand in complex movements, he jerked back, screeching like a girl. "What the hell? What are _you _doing here? Malfoy, what the hell is wrong with you? Why would you bring her here?"

"Hey, don't talk like that in front of a lady," I said. Nott stared at me like I had lost my mind and brought him to hell in the process. Granger looked at me oddly too, as if I were a curious case she just couldn't figure out. I couldn't bear it so of course I ignored her. "Well, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let you die here in my bed. I can't afford a funeral right now, you ungrateful bastard."

Nott just rolled his eyes at me, gesturing for Granger to proceed. And she did, biting back a smile rather unsuccessfully. I don't know what she found amusing since it was supposed to be a rather grave situation, but the sight of her amused face made me want to laugh out loud like nothing else.

It's odd now. The rest of that day is a blur. Granger managed to fix Nott up to the best of her abilities – which were incredibly better than my sorry attempts – and had even gone and purchased a cherished bottle of skelegrow for him. Nott and I couldn't get over that little act of charity, but it got even worse. She went with me to the Daily Prophet offices so that Greengrass could officially relieve me of my duties. When I had least been expecting it, she put in Nott's name to take up my just vacated spot. Of course, Greengrass couldn't refuse Granger, so Nott had a job just like that.

All my problems solved, just like that.

As I lay next to Nott that night, not being able to sleep, we both couldn't understand how we had gotten so indebted to Granger in the matter of a few hours. Nott owed her a life debt. I owed her everything I possessed, even my labour. She had all but waved away our thanks and just smiled, giving me an advance on my paycheque, telling me to buy warmer clothes for Bulgaria.

"You're playing with fire, mate," Nott had said right on the brink of sleep. "You shouldn't have gone to her."

I nudged him lightly. He knew the story. I had only told him about _five _times. He knew I hadn't gone to Granger. She'd obviously come to me. As if I'd go actively looking for a death sentence like that. But what could I do? She was a flame and I was a moth. I hadn't been able to say no.

"If I hadn't, you'd have probably been dead in another week," I reminded him.

"So be it," Nott growled. I cringed. "It would've been better than this. She practically owns you, Malfoy. I don't care about me, I can handle it. But now you're her personal lap dog, don't you see? You threw away what little freedom you had!"

"So be it!" I mimicked hotly. "What did you want me to do, hm? Let you bloody die on my bed? What would you mother say, you ungrateful prick!"

"My mother's _dead,_" he seethed. "And you're worse than dead come tomorrow. Who knows what she's going to make you do?"

"It's Granger," I reminded him. "She's… not like the others."

"Why, because she smiled at you? Is that it, Malfoy? Are you just another lovesick brat?" Nott nearly shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you? You need to run away before they get to you or… tell her you can't go with her and you and I will manage somehow."

His concern touched me. No one had really cared about me in such a way, not since my mother had been put away to St. Mungos. It almost brought tears to my eyes. But what could I say to him? I'm drawn to Granger like nothing else. I know she's danger but I can't stay away. Or, I can't break my promise because I'm sure she'll send Aurors after me, putting you and I both in Azkaban? It all sounded pathetic even in my head. Truthfully, I didn't have a good reason. I just needed the change. I craved it with all my being. But I couldn't say that to Nott, not after the two weeks we'd spent in camaraderie.

So, I clapped him on his healed shoulder and faked a smile, instead.

"I promised you we'll make it through," I said to him. "And we have. You're going to go to work and keep your head down. I'm going to go work for Granger and save up what I earn. I'll come back for you and we'll make a run for it. Find some other poor Slytherins to tag along while we're at it and whatever."

He gave me a long hard look, then, one that asked me if I seriously expected him to accept the bullshit I was spouting. I met it dead on. I couldn't back down now. He must have felt that he owed me too much to demand anything more. After all, it wasn't just Granger to whom he owed a life debt. I'd saved him, too. There was resignation on his face when he nodded his head, patting my shoulder gruffly.

"Alright, then," he said simply, composed. His voice sounded sure, but he and I both knew that that was _never _going to happen. "We'll make a run for it."

He knew before even I did. He could see right through my feeble attempts at lying.

Hermione Granger was going to be my undoing and I was just going to let her.

/

It was around half past five in the morning when I arrived at the Ministry of Magic. The building was silent, imposing, and forbidden to the likes of me. I knew this because I'd stupidly gone to my usual backdoor entrance to try and get it. It had been locked with powerful spells and a chain. Though I suspect the chain was more for visuals than anything else.

It was a good thing I knew how to use the visitors entrance, or I'd have probably missed the portkey. I couldn't help wondering that if I had, would Granger would have waited for me? I still can't be sure of the answer to that question.

There was a group of people gathered near the apparation points. Most of them didn't even bother looking up as I exited the visitor lift as quietly as possible (and failed). To their credit, they didn't even blink, not even one of them caring that I was there. Either they didn't know who I was – My Death Eater glory and all that good stuff – or they were wells schooled actors and had been told that I would be tagging along uselessly.

"Malfoy!" Granger exclaimed at me, rushing towards me when she caught sight of me. "How are you?" I'm sorry this is so early – I tried moving up the apparation time, but they just wouldn't let me – did you get here okay? Didn't have any trouble, did you?"

"Um…" I just stared at her. What else could I do? Interrupting her tirade would've probably gotten me kicked off this adventure trip and made me jobless. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm-"

"Great! Have you eaten yet? You probably skipped breakfast, didn't you? I did as well, only, Roger brought a whole thermos full of coffee for me and I don't even _drink _coffee, but-"

"I can see why, Granger," I said, unintentionally cutting off her insane ranting. I swear I hadn't meant to. The sight of her just brought it out of me involuntarily. Like verbal diarrhea. My heart was beating irregularly in my chest. No one had spoken so many useless and meaningless things at me in years. There hadn't been one order peppered throughout that entire crazy speech. "You should probably be cut off, I reckon."

She grinned at me, actually _grinned _at me, as if I'd made some kind of funny joke instead of potentially insulted her. She had been about to respond, probably say something witty and beautiful, her perfect pink lips parted, but someone called on her attention. She gave me one last innocent smile and bustled off to deal with last minute details probably. I stared after her, probably a little more intensely than I should have. I wanted more meaningless order free conversation. No demands just… _pleasantries. _

"You had better watch yourself, mate," I heard from behind me. I turned to find Roger Davies standing there, staring at me in pity. It was an odd thing to behold, seeing that on someone's face. I vaguely recalled him for Hogwarts, barely just. He had obviously seen the entire exchange.

"Pardon?" I asked, just to be polite.

"No one's going to spit on you here, Malfoy, we don't really roll that way if you catch my drift…" He seemed distinctly uncomfortable. As if acknowledging my sub-human status out loud was degrading _him _somehow. "But if you cross that line with Hermione Granger…"

I nodded at him. He thankfully just nodded back and stalked away in the direction Granger had gone, leaving me there by myself. I watched the preparations to leave before me, steeling myself. Davies' had made his threat clear. I hadn't even thought about wanting to just _talk _to Granger for thirty odd seconds and the world had sent me a ringing warning.

_None of that for you, Draco._

_You made your bed. Now you bloody lie in it._

So I put a clamp on my desire, hitching my meagre bag of belongings higher up on my shoulder. I had every intention of coming out of this alive. I wasn't to make small talk with any of these people. I was to keep to myself and follow all orders. I could feel the subservience that I had developed over these last few years take over me. If I was like this, I reasoned, it would be like Davies said. They wouldn't tear into me or beat me into a bloody pulp.

Nevertheless, in those five minutes that remained before we were due to leave to Bulgaria, I stood there and basked in the easy glow of those perfect smiles Granger had directed towards me and _only _me. As if I wasn't a disgusting individual not worthy to lick the dirt off her shoe. It made me warmer than I deserved to feel.

And then, as we all gathered to grasp onto an old copy of the _Daily Prophet_, I stared at her determined face and stamped out any and all feelings I had towards her.

/

No one really bothered talking to each other much, not unless it was absolutely necessary. I imagined it was because of the early hour of the morning and sleep deprivation, despite Granger attempting to offer everyone caffeine.

There were a total of ten people that composed the British Delegation that was to attend the Pureblood Solution conferences held in Bulgaria. This included me. They were all of varied backgrounds. From ex-Death Eaters like myself, to Ministry workers like Granger, to researchers, and even an American – it was a serious good mix. Despite that, I felt no animosity, not against me, the American, or anyone else. It was an alarming change.

To be honest, I was waiting for one of them to corner me and attack.

It never happened.

When we arrived at our destination, it looked nothing like a conference (but I suppose I knew nothing about such things so who was I to judge). But it seemed that this is where we were to stay. No one really bothered to explain things to me and I didn't bother asking since it seemed like a redundant exercise. In any case, they were all busy with their own lot, each seeing to a number of things that apparently urgently needed to be attended to.

We were at some sort of lodge that had Bulgarian Aurors running in and out all day. Apparently my job was to mind the group's luggage, which I suppose wasn't too horrible a job. I sat on the only chair in the biggest room of the place, not bothering to get up and wander off. Granger didn't have time to spare me even a single glance. She seemed busy to the point of exhaustion, to the point where every time I caught I glance of her scurrying about, a wave of tiredness swept through me.

Lunch time came and went. Some of the team members walked past me (not acknowledging me of course, much too busy with their respective tasks) with various food items. I didn't bother hunting for food. It looked like something that would get me in trouble. And anyhow, I had brought only part of my miniscule savings. I didn't want to waste it on something as frivolous as lunch. Who knew how long this trip could be? Granger had said two weeks give or take.

I wasn't really in a position to buy myself lunch every day for two weeks.

Catching glimpses of Granger throughout the day made me lose my appetite all together, anyway. She was like a well-oiled machine. Never too frantic, never bothered. She didn't even stop to eat herself, so I assumed she must've run on just pure magic. Or caffeine. It was probably the caffeine.

It was a pretty good day, in all. All I had had to do was sit there and people watch. No running about and doing demeaning tasks. No overlord to serve. No Mr. Greengrass glaring at me for existing. I didn't even have to talk to anyone, not that anyone wanted to talk to _me. _If this was how the next two weeks were going to progress, it was probably going to be _fun. _Relaxing. Something like vacation. I had no idea what Theo had even been worried about.

The lights dimmed in the room at about half past nine in the evening. After that, not that many Bulgarian Aurors came through. I wondered why that was, just in passing. Not that I cared much. They hadn't given me any trouble. I hadn't seen any of the team members in a few hours. _That _I did care about and wondered if I was expected to just sit here the whole time.

Granger found me sometime past ten. I knew the time and remember it quite well because there was a clock mounted on the wall opposite me. She seemed to be actively searching for me, which I found weird. It wasn't like she'd just stumbled upon me all willy nilly. Her eyes widened when she saw me and her pace quickened towards me.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, slightly panting. "I've been looking everywhere for you. No one's seen you in ages, and I checked your room but you weren't there…"

"My room?" I asked her stupidly.

She paused, her mouth open in the most attractive way. "No one showed you to your room, Malfoy?"

I just shook my head.

She smacked her forehead in frustration. "Have you just been sitting here all day? Have you even _eaten_?"

She seemed so guilt ridden that I shrugged. "Sure, Granger."

I could tell by her narrowed eyes that she didn't buy it, not for a second. I had the decency to flush, I suppose. I don't know where it came from or why, but I was genuinely embarrassed for being clueless. I probably should have put in more effort. She _was _paying me after all. But I had hoped that I could get away with being unnoticeable for a while. Surely she wouldn't fault me for that. I briefly wondered whether she'd send me home for wasting her time.

"Come on, then," she said with a huff. "Everyone's already eaten, but they shouldn't have packed up dinner just yet. We can grab something and I'll show you to your room."

I barely had time to pick up my belongings before she was off again, bouncing along like the ball of energy that she was. I had absolutely no idea how someone could be so energetic when they'd been going at it for over eighteen hours. She was tireless. I was slightly impressed – that is, I would've been slightly impressed if I felt anything for the girl at all. Which I did not. I absolutely did not. Not even the slightest bit of gratitude or curiosity.

"So…where exactly are we, Granger?" I asked when she looked like she was going to burst with awkwardness at having to walk anywhere with me. I suppose I had to take pity on her. "Are we holding your conference in this drab building, then?"

"Goodness no!" she exclaimed. "I swear I told Roger to brief you this morning, but it must have slipped my mind…"

Ah, so there it was. Not going to judge me, what _bullshit. _She was rambling again, but I only half listened. It wasn't as if it mattered anyway. I knew how this was going to play out. They might've had the decency not to spit on my face and stomp me to death, but they sure as hell weren't going to accept me into their fold. Davies had probably purposely left me out of the loop, left me there to sit clueless all day long. He had probably made Granger worried for no good reason. I was going to have to watch myself even closer.

"You know how the Bulgarian are with the secrecy," she was saying. "So we're stuck here for the night. They don't even trust us to take a portkey to the capitol, so we're going by train tomorrow."

That sure made a lot of sense. "And what's this place?"

"Military checkpoint," she said.

There wasn't much need for conversation beyond that point. We'd entered what looked like a cafeteria or a communal kitchen. Or both. Granger walked towards a fridge, just like that without any thoughts of repercussions for _stealing, _and started to pull out a bunch of food items. I assumed she thought half of them were for me, but I couldn't be sure. I slowly went by to stand next to her, keeping one eye on the door in case we were caught, reprimanded, and sent to jail.

When she saw me within arms distance, she dumped half of the things in my arms, officially making me accomplice to her crimes. My heart started to beat a little faster. Maybe she expected me to pay for all this. I didn't have that kind of money, obviously. But she continued to just rummage around to her desire. Before I knew what was happening, she was already back on her way out the door.

"Coming?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

So. Theft it was, then. I just sincerely hoped we wouldn't get caught.

"So…" We were three hallways down before my heart started to calm. "We can just take whatever we want, then?"

Granger was in the midst of biting into an apple. I'm not quite sure why, but the sight of it made my mouth water. And it had nothing to do with the apple, I'm sure. I was too nervous and mortified to be hungry.

"Of course, Malfoy," she said, with a slightly disturbed look on her face. "The Ministry's paying for all expenses on this excursion. They're cheap, but they're not _that _cheap, if you know what I mean. Here, this is you."

She rummaged in her pockets for a key, which she tossed at me, indicating a door that we'd stopped in front of. I caught it, of course, seeker reflexes and all. But opening the door with all that food in my arms, it made me clumsy. I hadn't had a meal like that since the _war _if you can imagine. It made my heart thud right in my throat. Granger had obviously noticed because she didn't walk off. And when I saw her looking at me, the look on her face was depressing. As if she thought I was pathetic or something.

I mean, it was true and all, but she didn't have to be mean enough to let me know. Stupid know-at-all mud-

"If you need anything, Malfoy, I'm in that room over there. 310," she said sincerely, even pointing in the right direction, no doubt to be helpful. "You'll be okay?"

_Of course. Of course I'll be okay, Granger. I've survived this long and I didn't need you to help me do it. Who do you think you are, waltzing into my life and taking pity on me as if I'm some sort of charity case? As if I'm some sort of House Elf that needs protecting! _

I didn't say any of that, though. All I did was nod and thank her.

"Goodnight then, Malfoy," she said, her face a mask of seriousness.

I waited until she'd gone before going into my designated room (which was bigger and cleaner than anything that I'd become used to). I sank down to the floor with my back sliding against the door, even though there was a perfectly sturdy desk in the corner with a lamp on it and a pretty spacious bed, even big enough to accommodate my long legs. Nothing like the mattress at home. I looked down at the dinner she had picked out for me and stared, a little helplessly. My immediate thought was to stash half of it away in my bag for later. Just in case.

And looking at it all brought stubborn tears to my eyes, helpless that I was even thinking of such things. Helpless that I had to resort to charity. Helpless that I even _wanted _it.

I didn't cry though. I swear to you, that night I didn't cry.

She was long gone and she couldn't hear me. But after I'd eaten my fill, stashing away what could be saved easily without suspicion, I lay myself to bed and whispered it back.

"Goodnight, Granger."

**A/N: This chapter reflects my mood pretty well. Fancy that. Please please please take a second to let me know what you thought! **

**I read recently somewhere that reviews are better than sex - shall we test that theory? **

**Until next week, here's an excerpt of the next chapter: **

"Might want to slow down there, Malfoy," she said finally, when I had finished demolishing my pancakes. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"Still going after the caffeine, I see," I retorted.

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**To my French reviewer: **Bonjour! Je ne parle pas beaucoup de fracais, mais vous parlez parfaitment l'anglais! I hope this chapter answered your questions and I'm very glad that you're enjoying. Much love.

**To my anonymous reviewer: **I was flattered to hear that you've been a fan :). I can't say that there won't be suffering but I can assure you that I truly believe in the strength of endurance. I can't really comment about the plot beyond this because I wouldn't want to give away any spoilers. Have a lovely week!


	9. She's Nothing Like You

**A/N:** Would you believe me if I said that I honestly had forgotten that today was Monday? I've had a crazy week. Not much else to say except thank you for all of your lovely reviews and sticking with this. I promise you things will start heating up soon. It just didn't seem realistic to throw these two people together so very randomly. I wanted to be a little realistic.

This was much longer than I had anticipated, so I had to split the chapter in two. The rest will be posted on Monday. Happy Canada day to my Canadians here and a Happy Fourth of July for all you lovely Americans!

**CHAPTER EIGHT: SHE'S NOTHING LIKE YOU**

I was up before the lot of them. I guess working for Mr. Greengrass had given me this sort of habit. Sleep wasn't entirely a necessity, even though the bed was heavenly by my standards. I wasn't entirely sure what I was supposed to be doing, where I was supposed to go, or what was expected of me. I didn't exactly want to overstep my bounds – Granger had seemed rather wary of me yesterday, after all – and it was habit by now to be careful. In the end, I figured I might as well take advantage of that unlocked fridge. Granger hadn't hesitated. I figured I didn't have to either.

It _was _unlocked after all…

It took me a while to retrace my steps to the kitchen/eating place. I must've been too focused on the back of Granger's head last night to have paid too much attention to where we were going. I got there eventually, though, and what I found still kind of makes my mouth water today.

It's ridiculous really. We were in a military camp out, after all. I had gone to Hogwarts and had sat through countless feasts over seven years. But at that moment I had seen nothing more beautiful. It was as if I'd never gone to Hogwarts or lived at the Manor, lived anywhere at all. It was just that moment and a gnawing hunger in my stomach.

It was a reasonably decent spread. Fresh food, too, not even the cheap stuff. There were fruits and cereal, waffles and pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, butter, milk… it made my mouth water and my stomach growl, even though I had eaten a ridiculously large meal last night. I wondered how I would ever return to the meagre rations of my real life after being exposed to this.

I shuddered to think of it.

It was apparently too early to bother with the likes of me, apparently. There were only three Bulgarian Aurors with dark rings of sleeplessness under their eyes, all sitting apart from each other and glaring off into space. They were all sipping coffee and diligently ignoring everything and everyone. I figured they had probably just gotten off the night shift.

I edged towards the food and when the Bulgarians didn't move to stop me, I may or may not have attacked the table.

I was already on my third serving by the time Granger showed up to the party, fixing herself a cup of coffee before sleepily shuffling her way over to me, only carting along some fruit and cereal as her breakfast. I suppose that was fitting. She looked like a delicate little bird with that long white neck of hers. She ought to eat like one too.

I was so focused on eating that I wasn't even startled that she so easily sat with me at my table without a second thought. As if that was a completely normal thing for her to be doing. Her eyes were tired, a little red. Her hair was as wild as the Hogwarts girl I remembered. The only difference was that there wasn't an ounce of resentment on her face as she stared at me.

"Might want to slow down there, Malfoy," she said finally, when I had finished demolishing my pancakes. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"Still going after the caffeine, I see," I retorted.

She was grinning before I even had a chance to gasp. What was it about her that made me lose myself like that? It was starting to get dangerous.

"Would you like a cup?" she asked after a moment, probably just to be polite. "I'm just about to go get another."

I shook my head solemnly. "Can't afford the addiction, Granger."

There was that look again on her small pretty face, the same look from last night. It was as if I were some sort of anomaly, a pity case that she _just _couldn't solve or make out. I saw the indecision on her face. She wanted to ask me what was wrong with me, what was so _wrong _in my life that I was willing to make civil conversation with the likes of her and actually be grateful about it. But she was too polite. That was the Granger that I had always known. Goody two shoes, not about to cross any sort of _boundaries,_ even if it was entirely within her power to do so. It's not like I would've refused to answer any of the questions she asked me. I couldn't.

"Alright then, Malfoy. Finish those waffles and then you and I are going to prepare to get out of here," she said with a nod, her mind clearly made up. "These Bulgarians think they can push me around because I'm British. I'm going to need some muscle if we're going to get out of here before nightfall."

/

It was well past noon when the train finally left the platform. I was sat in a window seat of one of three compartments that Granger had bought out for the team. Naturally, I was all alone. Sitting there by myself and feeling some kind of unnecessary trepidation. Or maybe excitement or perhaps Granger had been right and eating so gluttonously had made me sick. I had my head pressed against the window pane, looking at the deserted platform, leaving it behind.

There was no one there to say goodbye to us there, no one cheerfully waving. No one would miss us. To be honest, there was no one in this world who was going to miss me. I had everything I owned packed in that bag sitting next to me and I was leaving everything behind on that platform, disappearing into the distance.

"Mind if I join you?"

I looked up to find Granger poking her head through the compartment door; her face flushed a lovely shade of red. She was slightly panting, too. Perhaps she had run here, though who the hell runs on a train, for god's sake? I gestured to the seat across from me, not bothering to voice my assent. As if it was possible for me to deny her anything she wanted. She could take it all away from me if she wanted, without even blinking, and I couldn't possibly say no if I valued my life.

But the smile she gave me almost made up for all that. As if she really didn't know about the power she had over me.

I thought about that morning and how she had essentially made me follow her around, hold things for her, but mostly puff out my chest and look threatening to the Bulgarian bureaucrats at the military base. Don't worry, I'm not fooling myself. I'm not about to go say that something like that actually worked. She and I both knew it. She didn't need me there, obviously. She spoke perfect Bulgarian and had a spitfire attitude that pushed things along for her just fine.

"_When did you learn to speak Bulgarian?" I asked her when she and I were following one of the Aurors to a file room. _

"_Oh!" she exclaimed, looking surprised that I was even interested. "Sometime in fifth year. Mostly after the war though… Had to. Came with the job." _

_She held open a door for me and I nodded my head in thanks. It was easy. It was almost _too _easy and I couldn't understand why that was, how it could be like this now. As far as I could remember, nothing had ever been easy with her. It was always competition and animosity. It had always been bloody. Truthfully, it had always been about blood. _

"_So why do you need me here?" I asked her with genuine curiosity. "These people seem afraid of you. You definitely don't need anyone's help." _

_And then she smirked a smirk that the old me could've been proud of. "I just need back up in case one of these guys gets wise and tries to choke me." _

_I laughed silently with her all the way to a room full of files where I enjoyed watching her boss around a bunch of surly Bulgarians who had no choice but to listen to every command she decided to torture them with. I couldn't understand a word she was saying and she knew it, but I think somehow that just made the whole thing even funnier. _

Looking at her now, hours later, she looked different somehow. Gone was the controlling bossy spitfire. In its place was a calm, soft looking creature. She seemed comfortable. Her hair had been tied back, emphasizing her tiny stature. She didn't think twice about sitting across from me. She didn't look at me like she was afraid or angry or even curious at all. Perhaps she knew then. Perhaps she knew that I wasn't a worthy adversary anymore and that she didn't have to worry about me trying to pull one over her.

That was almost depressing. _Almost_.

I looked away from her, then, just in case my mind wandered in directions that weren't appropriate. Instead, I stared out the window and hoped I looked natural, or at least passably so. "So, are you here to tell me all about what you need me to do next?"

"No, actually," she said, shifting around to try and get comfortable. I tried not to pay attention. My face began to heat up oddly. "I'm trying to escape the others. They're being unnecessarily _rowdy_… But we can talk about your contract, Malfoy. I suppose Roger didn't get a chance to brief you yet since you were with me all morning."

She waited, as if she were looking for some kind of affirmation. For what, I couldn't imagine. She had been there, she knew that I'd been with her that morning and alone the day before. Why on earth would I need to re-state that for her?

Or maybe she wanted me to tell her what I already knew: that Davies wasn't about to brief me on anything because Davies hated my guts for being an ex-Death Eater. The same reason that the rest of the ambivalent group probably disliked me. Just because they had the decency to not openly spit in my face, didn't mean that they were going to welcome me with open arms.

There was a reason that there was no one else but Granger in my compartment with me, after all. Davies wasn't going to brief me for shit.

"Whatever you want, Granger," I said when all she did was continue to stare at me.

"Oh, alright," she said slowly, as if she knew the direction my thoughts had been wandering. "I just thought you might want to rest or something. You look quite tired."

An awkward silence passed between us. All I could do was stare in her face, wondering why she even cared about how I felt or looked. Why she would state things like that out loud to someone who had openly hated her guts for most of her adolescent life?

"Anyway," she said, shrugging off my probably too intense stare. "We're going to be there for two weeks and there will be around eight meets. You'll be required to attend all the talks, of course, along with the rest of us. There will be a formal ball at the end of the first week, which should be a right nightmare. All of us are required to be there. If there's time, Roger says that you'll have to make a speech. Don't worry, though. He will help you prepare it before hand."

Well, wasn't that just peachy?

But I just nodded. I was completely dispassionately uninterested in what she was saying, but mesmerized with the way her mouth moved, speaking perfectly enunciated words. Really, she had quite the perfect pair of lips. Even from here, they looked rather soft. I decided right there that I should do whatever I could to continue making her talk to me in that neutral hate-less tone. Merlin knew after this trip was over I wasn't going to see that from anyone ever again.

"So what exactly is this conference business for?" I asked her. "Why are they sending you?"

"I told you, Malfoy, I work for the Ministry. In the department of magical international cooperation. So this is what my job is like," she paused, considering me as if I should've already known this. As if everyone in Magical Britain should have known this fact about her. I didn't blame her for it. She _was _famous after all. But the look in her eye passed as quickly as it came. "It's not so bad. Means I don't get to be home very much, but that's just the cost of life, really."

I just nodded. I got that. The cost of life – doing what you had to do with what you had in order to get where you had to go. Maybe she and I weren't so different after all. She just had a lot more resources and a better place to end up than I did, but it was the same grind. The same sweat and hard work. The same _blood _invested.

"I'm sure you're aware of the pureblood riots in rural Bulgaria," she said, probably in an attempt to answer my first question. But I shook my head, no. I hadn't heard of any such thing. She looked surprised at this. "Really? It's been all over the news for months…"

"I haven't had much time or incentive to read the news, Granger," I said dryly. And no one who would want to talk politics with me, I wanted to say, but held my tongue. Granger looked shocked, like how could I not know about something so monumental? I didn't want her to pry into my pathetic life any more than she already had so I stalled. "So, why are these pesky agrarian purebloods rebelling?"

She stifled a snort and I mentally patted myself on the back. Crisis averted. "The Bulgarian Ministry has passed a lot of… well, _repressive _laws to subdue them. A majority of them were Voldemort supporters, but that I'm sure you were aware of."

Yeah, actually. That I _had _been aware of. Voldemort had at the beginning of the war turned to his foreign supporters – Bulgarians included – for galleons as he had turned to his British followers to offer their minds, bodies, families, and souls – to sacrifice themselves as soldiers of the Dark. Of course Granger knew I knew all of this. It was slightly cruel and inappropriate of her to even mention it, but she seemed unaware that she'd even done anything wrong.

"So for the past several months, the Bulgarian purebloods living in the cities have been attempting to lobby the Bulgarian government. And when that failed, they began to protest outright. The conference was called when the death toll started to get 'obscene' – not my words," she said with a look of disgust on her face. "The Bulgarian Minister is… obtuse, to say the least."

I didn't bother stifling my snort at her open, honest words. She smiled at me for it and I couldn't help it, I smiled back even though I shouldn't have. I probably should've spat in her face and called her a mudblood, but all I could do was smile. She was being kind to me for no goddamn reason. I should've stopped it in those early stages when I could've. Would've saved her a world of trouble, but I didn't have it in me. I craved the attention.

"So what are you supposed to do about all of this?" I asked when she finally looked away.

"_We _and representatives from a few other Ministries are gathering to advise the Ministry of policy options that don't break human rights and Wizarding international laws," she responded dully without bothering to look up at me, as if this was something she'd had to repeat over and over again to dozens and dozens of people on several separate occasions.

"Like what?" I asked, not particularly interested but interested to continue on the conversation. "Going to get them to institute the British way?"

I had been only joking, being light hearted and all that nonsense, but she nodded. She nodded at my sarcasm.

"Well, Malfoy, it's not like we're killing off ex Death Eaters by the droves…" she trailed off. It was obvious to me that she was being rhetorical and it caused my heart to clench painfully.

"Aren't you?" I asked gently, something settling over me like a wave of despair.

"Well…" she stared at me, something like uncertain shock on her face. I didn't even have the proper sense to appear ashamed and that's probably what threw her off. Unlike her, I _wasn't _being rhetorical. Not in the least. "What do you mean?"

What _did _I mean? What did she think I meant? Hadn't she seen for herself my decrepit lifestyle, the way Nott had been beaten to a bloody pulp? Hadn't she seen the Death Eater offices at the ministry, the forms that had come from her best friend's department to regulate us, the shame and the shackles that followed us everywhere we went? Had she not seen the weary faces on the streets that day I had saved her life? Had she seen all that and not cared?

I just shook my head at her when it looked like she expected a real answer. I saw her for real then, or so I thought, as she actually was. She was a representative of the Ministry of Magic, all that was holy and peaceful, the righteous and graceful. She couldn't _not _know the reality of things, what the Ministry was doing to us back home. It couldn't have been any better than what was happening in Bulgaria. There may have not been Avadas and Crucios in the papers, but it was all just the same and she was one of the ones doing it. Repressing us, reminding us that we were nothing but evil dirt.

And here I was, sitting across from her, _working _for her.

Bile rose to my throat. What exactly had she brought me here for? So the Bulgarians were rebelling. The Ministry was going to help the Bulgarians trample all of them down while still looking like they were righteous, I supposed. It looked like it from what Granger was saying. What had she said? Proper human rights or some such nonsense.

As if any of us Death Eaters actually had human rights.

I didn't want to know what was in store for me once we reached our destination, but I already knew that I should've bloody asked before signing on. I had seen the price tag and the thought of a vacation, and it had lured me away. I shouldn't have been so greedy. I should've just kept my bloody head down and continued on in my place in life, curiosity about Granger being damned.

What was Granger even going to make me do? Help starve those Bulgarian Death Eaters like they were starving us back home? Take away their lives? Help them adjust to the life that the British Ministry had forced me to live?

I felt a real sadness spread through me then, looking at her inquisitive face staring at me. I hadn't felt this sad since just after my sentence had been given down after the Death Eater Trials. This was the ultimate deception. She seemed so soft, so innocent, the only person that had looked at me and seemed genuinely alright to see me there breathing. But really, I had to remember that she wasn't here to do me any favours. It was her and her people that were out to crush me out of existence. I could never forget my place, lest she use it against me.

I was going to have to remember to stay subservient to all that was Hermione Granger.

"Malfoy?" she called to me gently, as if she was actually concerned about upsetting me. I had to remember that people like her were never going to give a damn about people like me, even if she was a fantastic bloody actress. She _had _fooled aunt Bellatrix after all. She was devious. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said as bluntly as I could, putting on that pleasant mask of nothing that these elite people so preferred on their servants.

_You're not like her, _I had to tell myself. _She's not like you. _

"But…" she seemed stumped. 'What were you going to say? You can tell me anything, you know. This issue merits debate and-"

_She's never going to be anything like you. _

"There's nothing I can say that's going to change who you are and what you stand for, Granger," I said, feeling like all the world had abandoned me all over again.

"Okay," was all she said in gentle acquiescence, as if I needed coddling.

We sat in silence for some time, the chugging of the train the only noise between us, clambering on to our destination. For as much as I wanted to ignore her – and I should've, should've gone to the other compartments and endured the awkwardness instead of sit there and let myself be compromised any further – I couldn't get her out of my mind. She filled up the whole space with her persona, her tiny birdlike body, her slight movements.

Maybe I wasn't used to spending downtime with other people anymore, but my skin was on fire just being this close to her, not saying anything at all. Maybe it was just the fact that I'd started to become comfortable around her and she had pulled the rug out from under my feet, reminding me that after all this was over, I was going to have to go home and suffer like this had never even happened.

Eventually, she smiled up at me, slightly awkwardly. "Didn't you bring anything to do, Malfoy?"

I was startled that she was still bothering to talk to me. For all I knew, she thought I was a bloody psycho for talking to her as I had. But her smile, as it had been doing all this while, disarmed me. I shook my head gently, softly so as not to startle her – or myself.

"Well, would you like something to read?" she asked.

I thought for a second that maybe she was just being polite to me. It was in her nature, after all. And then the irony struck me and I couldn't help but smile. Of course she of all people would be offering me something to read.

"So, still a bookworm then, Granger?" I couldn't help but say. She burst out laughing and shrugged as if embarrassed. "Well alright then. What have you got with you? Caring around a library with you like you did in school?"

She blushed and I felt a pang of fear. Of course I'd say the one inappropriate thing that would embarrass her. But then she squared her shoulders, probably remembering that she was worth a million of me no matter what she did. She gestured me over to sit next to her and opened her bag wide between us.

"Holy shit," I whistled. "You really _are _carting around a library!"

"I'm between houses," she said, as if that explained away everything. "Here, this one's good," she said, picking one out of the pile and handing it over. "Or this…"

She paused, her fingers brushing against mine. A pleasant jolt spread down my back when she didn't immediately remove her hands from mine, making sure that I had grasped her precious book properly before she let go. Her fingers were soft. She was the first person that had voluntarily touched me in years, even if it was just an accident. I was tempted to find a reason to do it again or to screw it all and just grab onto her, refusing to let go.

I wondered if she'd kill me for it.

Even though Astoria Greengrass thought she was in love with me and touched me sweetly all the time, she really only wanted that marginal comfort the idea of love could give her. She wanted to take away the guilt of running away during the war. She had concepts of honour and felt bad that the marriage contract that my parents had created for the both of us in our birth was never going to be fulfilled now that I was poor.

But Granger didn't need me. Granger didn't need anyone. And Granger didn't have all that extra baggage attached. When Granger touched me, she was always going to do it willingly. She was no Astoria Greengrass.

_She's not like you, _I had to repeat to myself.

Granger had created a neat pile for me, chattering about each book as I had my little moment, thinking about her. It took me several more moments of listening to her ramble nervously before I finally thanked her. Her responding smile was entirely too brilliant. I had to look away and continue chanting to myself. I was never going to be like her. I could no longer speak with her and this was the last time I was allowed to accept her charity. If only because sitting silently and staring at her for the entire train ride would've been awkward for her.

When she curled up against the window, opening a book, I leaned back. I didn't bother moving back to my seat across from her. What was the point? I knew I would end up watching her read, trying to figure out her motives for being so goddamn nice to me, when the both of us knew she was probably leading me to slaughter when we finally reached the Bulgarian capital. I crossed my legs, pretending to be comfortable, and dug into the small fortune that Granger had tossed at me, as if it really was nothing.

For the next few hours, I drifted in and out of fantasies, Arithmancy problems, the newest potion maker's manual version 5.0, and the wonderful history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.

/

It was the hand on my shoulder that startled me awake.

"Shh, Malfoy, it's alright," said the soothing voice above me. My bleary eyes saw Granger's head and her mass of hair floating above me. It took me a whole minute to realize that I'd slouched down and fallen asleep on the train. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, still slightly confused. "Whasgoing-on?"

"We're here," she said, chuckling at my confusion. "I'm just going to go and check up on everyone else. I'll be back in a minute, alright? Gather your things and wait for me here."

Like I would wait for her anywhere else and risk getting mistaken for a Death Eater. Sometimes the girl was rather daft. But I couldn't tell her that because my brain was still slightly bogged down with confusion and sleep and because she'd bolted out the door before I could even sit up straight.

When I finally did, a blanket fell off my shoulders. It wasn't mine, surely. I didn't even own more than that one blanket that I'd left behind with Nott. Someone had put it on me when I'd stupidly fallen asleep with Granger in the same compartment. No, _Granger _had put it on me while I'd fallen asleep with her in the same compartment! Bloody hell, though, I hadn't done something this stupid in a very long time. Feeling comfortable enough to sleep with a Ministry official around, when they could do anything they wanted to you…

I jumped up, running my hands over myself in panic. What if she had cursed me? Poisoned me? Written to the Ministry to come and get me… I glanced out the train window to see we were stopped at a station. I still had time. I could run for it before Granger came back.

I was about to make a dash for my things when I tripped soundly over the blanket that had fallen to the floor. The blanket that Granger had no doubt wrapped around me when I'd fallen asleep. That she'd been considerate enough to conjure for me. After she'd given me access to her books…My heart clenched again for the millionth time that day. My brain had trusted her enough to fall asleep with her in the same room. She had been kind enough to accommodate me, to take care of me as if I were some kind of _friend. _

"She's not like you," I whispered to my reflection, staring back at me from the glass window.

"Are you usually this slow when you wake up?" Granger said from behind me, startling the hell out of me. "Sorry, did I scare you? We're just a tiny bit behind schedule."

I didn't say another word. She didn't either, gathering her things and vanishing the blanket. She did sneak a glance at me though, thinking she was being all discreet about it. I had to bite my cheek to stop from smiling. She shook her head awkwardly and began chatting about the book I'd fallen asleep with, probably to fill the silence and continued on all the way out of the train, onto the platform, and into a set of cars that took us to a lavish palace.

I would've looked around, honestly, I would've. But Granger was still talking to me and it seemed stupid not to pay attention to the way her lips moved pleasantly, reminding me that she didn't hate me, not really.

I physically had to pinch myself to remember that no, she was _nothing _like me and that I could have _nothing _to do with her.

**A/N: ****I hope you guys all enjoyed this and had a lovely week. Here's something to cut the time between now and Next Monday: **

"Hermioninny!"

The duck footed, enormously muscled man grasped the little waif like form of his (ex?)-girlfriend, possibly lover and swung her around gleefully, hugging her to his chest. He was clearly happy to see her, which made me think that perhaps the star crossed lovers didn't get to see each other very often. The thought made me cringe a little internally and the idea of throwing my bag at the servants and marching inside seemed a lot more favourable just then.

**Response to the Unsigned Reviews: **

**Wasted: **Thank you! It's flattering that you think all of those things. New chapters are up every Monday!

**Jeck: **You are ENTIRELY too kind. : ) Thank you for reviewing.

**DJK: **Thank you for reviewing! I do hope the rest of it isn't lackluster or disappointing.


	10. The Wizarding Quarter

**A/N: **This is the second half of the last chapter. I'm really sorry I'm late! I only just got home from work and this is the first time all day I've had to read over this. I spent this past week writing as much as I possibly could because this month (and probably the next) are going to be completely crazy busy. I really do enjoy updating weekly, so that's going to continue on for some while at least.

**A special shout out to my really lovely reviewers: **buttercup88, Guest, awesomeladanchica, HG4eva, UschiBuschi, irezei, christinahhh, lita rocks LbC, kitcatscratch, and LadyLiliaAnne.

An extra special thank you to kitcatscratch because girl… you just get me.

How was the 4th of July for you guys? And Canada day for you Canadians? Enough rambling! On with the show.

**CHAPTER NINE: THE WIZARDING QUARTER**

The Pureblood Solution conferences were being held in Sofia, Bulgaria, the capital and headquarters of the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic. The city, unbeknownst to the Bulgarian muggle population, housed the majority of Bulgaria's magical community in a magically warded part of the city entitled the Wizarding Quarter. It was also where all the delegations attending the conference would be staying as well, including ours.

The second I stepped out of the carriage that had taken us here from the train station, I realized that I was entirely out of my depth.

That wasn't a new feeling by any means, not at that point of my life. I'd been getting into precarious situations, biting off more than I could chew for years now, ever since I had taken the Dark Mark instead of dying right then and there. But one never really gets used to the feeling of steeping into something that is so clearly beyond them. The slight pinch of awkwardness is always going to be there, accompanied by a healthy dose of fright and possibly a little shame.

Or was that just me?

In any case, it was just ironic in my head, stepping out of that carriage on that day right behind Granger – being careful not to touch her, of course. It was ironic because even though the world had tried to stamp it out of me, I still remembered that my father had raised me for this exact moment, just as his father had prepared him and so on. It had been in my family for generations. I had always been destined to lead the political life as my father had, as generations of Malfoy's had been doing since the very birth of the Ministry of Magic.

This is who we were. This is who I was meant to be.

And despite everything that had happened, despite the last three years of utter misery and dejection, here I was, participating temporarily in what would have been my permanent vocation if I had just done something differently in my life. If the beast named Voldemort had just not existed…

We were standing outside the grandest hotel I had ever set eyes on, at least in the past couple of years. I was aware that it was smack dab in the centre of the Bulgarian Wizarding Quarter, where the richest of this society lived. And it was obvious too – the red carpeting on the steps, the spirals, the rich architecture, the servants lined up to cater to us… It was all over the top. It was the exact lavishness that had been ripped away from me. I wasn't used to this kind of stuff anymore. I would've probably been happy to be housed in a cellar.

Yet, these were to be my lodgings – the lodgings of the entire English delegation. Perhaps everyone participating in this farce was to stay here. Granger had not given me too many details. In fact, she had left me standing there and had waltzed up the carpeted steps to address our welcoming party. But I paid them no mind.

Once upon a time, these things, this grandeur would have failed to impress me. I would've thrown my luggage to the servants that were conveniently standing by and imperiously walked on into my room without a second glance. Perhaps I would've even sneered at the staff, the people who bothered to come in my way, and even the lowly mudblood who was just standing a few steps ahead of me…

I had always been destined to be here, after all. I considered doing just that.

But I was no longer that person anymore. I had buried him with the rest of my feelings, family, and wealth. Hitching my bag up closer to me and nodding politely at the staff that was unloading the rest of the group's luggage, I went to stand next to the American, who didn't even glance up to acknowledge me. Just the way it was meant to be.

Just as I began to wonder if we would simply spend the rest of our time camped up on these hotel stairs, there was a shout of glee and a thundering of footsteps.

"Hermioninny!"

The duck footed, enormously muscled man grasped the little waif like form of his (ex?)-girlfriend, possibly lover and swung her around gleefully, hugging her to his chest. He was clearly happy to see her, which made me think that perhaps the star crossed lovers didn't get to see each other very often. The thought made me cringe a little internally and the idea of throwing my bag at the servants and marching inside seemed a lot more favourable just then.

I didn't do any such thing, of course. I wasn't _stupid_, contrary to popular belief.

He kissed her cheek and she smiled brightly in return. I won't say I was offended or anything, but the lumbering idiot got an even brighter smile than I had, and I was sure he hadn't spent any length of time reading Granger's arithmancy books. Did they even teach arithmancy at Durmstrang, or was it too complicated a subject for these folk? In any case, it was all rather dull and I felt a bit cheated.

I had to mentally remind myself that all of this was a good thing, that I didn't want or need that kind of attention from Granger – or anyone – anyway, because it was most likely going to get me killed. But really, what irked me about the situation was his hands all over her. If I were to put my hands on _anyone _in public, I'd probably be fired. Even if it was someone other than Granger. Not that I'd want that. Right?

Maybe it was just her blankets.

What? No, really, my thoughts were a jumbled mess, staring at the affection that was on full frontal display before me. I was ready for them to start snogging and whatever else right there in front of all of us. But apparently, this was how the other side just greeted each other because I seemed to be the only one paying any attention to the pair.

Granger eventually introduced the rest of the team to Krum. He recognized Davies from his visit to Hogwarts all those years ago – but then, I suppose the only notable thing about Roger Davies at Hogwarts had been his great luck in snagging Fleur Delacour for the Yule Ball. Krum didn't recognize me at all, though he was polite enough to give me a nod of acknowledgement. It was more than I had expected from the surly Quidditch player I may or may not have idolized in my youth.

Everyone moved towards the doors. Granger was handing out labeled folders because she was all organized like that. She gave me an indulgent smile when she handed me mine and I felt like that made up for her disgusting display of affection for Krum – which, why on earth was he here anyway? Was Bulgaria really that small? What on earth could a Quidditch player contribute to the politics of blood?

But then, I had to remember, what on earth could _I _contribute to this whole charade? What on earth was I doing here?

When I snapped out of my thoughts, everyone had dispersed – even Granger. Opening up my assigned folder, I found schedules and maps, all sorts of relevant information, as well as a numbered room key. I swallowed. No keeping tabs on the ex Death Eater, then. No suspicion. Just a smile and off you go, Mr. Malfoy.

It was the most trust anyone had ever show me in years and it made me feel vaguely uncomfortable.

I wondered when the other shoe would drop.

/

I woke up before everyone else, as was quickly becoming routine. I preferred it that way, really. The utter silence that came with dawn, not even the chirping of birds prevalent yet. Perhaps it was the newness or the calming chill that came with a new day - a fresh beginning - that gave me such peace. Or maybe it was the brilliance of watching the sun break through the horizon, rising so surely day after day that made me feel just that much more certain of myself.

It reminded me that life stopped for no one and, if nothing else was certain, I knew that the world would keep spinning on. It gave me some measure of confidence that nothing else could.

Granger's excellent schedules let me know that breakfast was to be served in the dining hall at half past nine. A decent time for most people, I imagine, but I had been rising at half past five since my sixth year and that habit wasn't easy to break in the least. Maybe it was the newness of the day or the memory of Granger's smile that made me bold enough to leave the hotel and wander.

Well, if I am to be perfectly honest, it was most likely the thought of Krum and Granger sharing a room that got to me. I didn't know which room either of them were staying in. They had seemed more than amicable judging by their display yesterday. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that they were together. Together like _that. _I could just picture them sharing a bed and the idea of that made me slightly sick for some reason, even if I hadn't eaten anything in a while.

So, I left the safety of the hotel and onto the streets of the Wizarding Quarter of Bulgaria. I wasn't entirely sure what I would find, though all of the patrons of the hotel spoke constantly of the danger of being attacked by the pureblood rebels. I wasn't too worried though, really. I had nothing of value under my name or on my person.

The streets were clean and blissfully deserted. It felt a lot like home, really. In fact, I could imagine that I was walking to work right about then. Only, I felt a lot safer here. Back in London, there was always the chance of being assaulted. I suppose I was still in the good part of town, though, since there was not a soul about – not a pureblood rebel or anyone else in sight.

I don't even know how long I wandered or why. I just felt compelled to go on, let my feet carry me and worry about the rest later. It wasn't as if I had anyone waiting for me, anything to do. I had no responsibilities, beyond what Granger had thought fit of my station.

So not very much at all.

"Hey, you there!" someone was shouting. "Stop! Stop!"

I froze in spot, turning to see a young woman and a man gesturing wildly at me. What for, I could hardly know. Turning around, I saw that there were several scared and slightly drawn faces staring right at me. In all my wandering, I had apparently waltzed onto an active street. Staring around at my surroundings, I supposed I had left Sofia's wizarding proper and into the dreary part of town. The buildings were shabby and the people were dressed even shabbier.

The man and the woman approached me cautiously, staring at me as if I were a ticking time bomb about to explode in their faces. Or perhaps a murdering maniac. I couldn't quite be sure which just yet.

"There's a good lad. Back away now. You don't want to be going down that way," he said to me in his attempt at what was probably supposed to be a calming voice.

I looked back over my shoulder and saw that they were barring me going down and even shabbier street that was completely deserted. There was rubble on the streets and the buildings seemed to be in disrepair. There were doors knocked down, glass strewn about the pavement, and big red markings on the walls. Perhaps it was Bulgarian graffiti. Something told me it was much more ominous.

"Why not?" I asked. Sure, it seemed rather sketchy, but I had definitely seen worse in my day.

At the sound of my voice, the man seemed to calm considerably. He turned around and waved at the crowd that had suspiciously gathered around us. "It's alright! He's just a lost foreigner!"

The woman smiled at me and nudged the man. "Papa, don't be rude." She turned to me. "My name is Ingrid. This is my father Victor."

I attempted a polite smile, though I was still supremely confused. "Common name?"

She wrinkled her nose prettily. "I suppose it is. My brother is also named Victor, after my dear silly old father here."

Victor Senior seemed to check into the conversation at that point and tugged affectionately at his daughter's ear. "Why don't you go on and find your brother before I teach you a lesson in respect, you cheeky girl. Why don't _you _come with me? We should not stand here for very long. We don't know who might be watching."

And he started off before I could even begin to process what was going on. The girl had already hurried away and her father was already talking over his shoulder, presumably at me. What was I supposed to do, really? The mystery of it all got to me. So, naturally, I hurried after him to figure out what was going on.

/

The sun was just rising properly, hitting the thatched roofs of the shabby buildings. As I walked behind Victor Sr., I noticed that the area seemed to get shabbier as I walked along with him. Soon we were passing cottages with makeshift doors, holes in roofs covered with soggy blankets, and broken windows. It looked like the drabby part of London where the most desperate Death Eaters had to live – those no one would hire.

I jumped when a child in rags ran past us, chasing an angry looking cat. Victor senior didn't seem to even notice the sad sight. Then again, Victor senior didn't seem like the most observant man in the world. He hadn't once turned around to see if I was actually following him, choosing to chatter at me obliviously. Wouldn't it have been quite the sight to see this kindly man walking about, chattering at absolutely _nothing? _

I can't say I caught a word of anything he said to me that day. Even if I had, after all of these years, the drivel quite escapes me.

We finally reached a well maintained cottage, as well maintained an area like this could be, anyway. In fact, the inside looked just as good as my shabby little apartment back home. It made me feel like I had come to the right place, to people who understood my condition and how life was meant to be lived. It wasn't much, probably only what they could afford, but there were signs everywhere of trying to make do. It was obvious the people who lived here had tried to make the place as livable as possible and welcoming.

Victor senior was hugging and kissing a woman – presumably his wife – who seemed to be worried out of her mind. Victor was speaking to her in rapid Bulgarian and gesturing wildly, occasionally pointing at me, as if I were to blame for the sun not rising and the worries of the entire world.

"You must excuse me," the lady finally said. "In times like these, when our families do not come home when expected… It is a cause for great worry."

Her English was impeccable with the barest hint of an accent. I don't know why I was surprised. She was very pretty with rosy cheeks. There were lines around her eyes and mouth, probably from laughing in a very long and happy life. I shook her hand when she offered it and smiled back when she smiled at me. How could I not with a woman who had a face like that?

She led me to what was probably the family dinner table and offered me a seat. I sat, of course, not wanting to be rude, but mostly just wanting to collect myself. Staring at this worried woman before me, so obviously devoted and in love with her family, reminded me of my own mother. I thought of her then, wasting away in St. Mungos, and felt like I could sob right then and there in front of all of these strangers.

In all my musings, the children seemed to have arrived home, being hugged and kissed by their mother at the door. It seemed like a customary greeting. I may have been briefly jealous.

"So, what is your name?" the son asked me, once we'd been seated. "What are you doing here?"

His sister had glared at him. "What he means to say is, what brings you to the Wizarding Quarter?"

"It's quite alright," I smiled awkwardly, not used to my facial muscles moving in such a direction. "My name is Draco. I'm… I'm working with the English delegation at the Pureblood Solution conferences."

It was the weirdest thing ever. No one questioned my presence after that. I was served breakfast as if I were an expected guest. No one questioned why I was there or how I had just randomly wandered into this part of the Wizarding Quarter. They even all spoke in rather fluent English so I could participate in the conversation. It was surreal. I had never felt so welcomed anywhere in my entire life, not even in my own home. _Ever. _

I imagined this is what family and civilization was supposed to be like.

"Have you been to many places in Sofia, Draco?" the mother asked me.

I shook my head no. "We only just arrived yesterday. But maybe… maybe if they don't ask me to participate in too many of the talks, I can." That sounded like a diplomatic enough answer.

"What are they expecting you to do?" Victor Senior asked me. "You are a pureblood too, like us."

"Victor!" his wife exclaimed and everyone stared at me.

I just shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. I was asked by Hermione Granger and I couldn't say no."

"Hermione Granger is in _Bulgaria?" _Ingrid exclaimed, standing up. I nodded. Her mother had to physically pull her back into her seat. It took her a full minute to calm down, much to the chagrin of her mother. Victor senior seemed amused. "Well if _she _is here, maybe these conferences aren't such a bad idea, right papa? She can speak out against the injustice!"

No one said anything for a moment, probably digesting Ingrid's optimism. I could tell that they, like me, had given up optimism all together and I wondered how bad these pureblood rebellions had actually been. Granger had said that the Ministry had killed the rebels by the droves and taken away the land of the rest. Maybe these people had suffered even more than I had. Yet… here they were, opening their doors to a practical stranger.

"How did you know I was a pureblood?" I asked them to break the silence.

"Come now," Victor senior said with a wave of his hand. "You have the Malfoy hair, son. We've heard of your family for generations. It's not right what they did with your mother."

Emotion welled in my chest again. "Thank you," I nodded.

Ingrid, noticing the shine in my eyes, continued to chatter on about this and that. We spoke of many things that morning, the sun shining through the small windows, making everything glow and look cleaner than they actually were. They told me of trivial day to day things. Problems that may have seemed regular, but now that I think of it, it all had an undertone of misery.

Crop restrictions, water restrictions, _land _restrictions… Everything.

"So, why was I not allowed to go down that street?" I eventually asked them when all was once again at ease.

Everyone paused and Victor Jr. stared curiously at his father. Victor senior waved his son away. "We do not go down there, son," he said to me gravely. "It is forbidden."

"But why?" I pushed. It was all just too curious to ignore. "What's down there?"

It seemed that no one really knew what to say to me. The family members stared at one another trying to figure out how to tell this stranger, this foreigner, the reality of their lives in plain terms. It wasn't an easy thing, I realized after.

Eventually, the mother looked at me dead in the eyes and said, "We do not go down there. It is watched from both sides. It is the stronghold of the rebels and anyone who crosses the threshold is either cursed dead or worse."

I nodded guiltily, realizing that there was something unsaid in that statement.

"Come, friend," Victor Jr. said to me before I could begin to apologize profusely. "Gather your things. I will take you where you need to go."

/

He didn't speak to me for a good block away from his house. I thought perhaps he had been offended at my questioning earlier. "I'm sorry if I crossed a line, mate-" I begin to say.

He quieted me, looking around. I realized then that he was really just looking for privacy. What for, I couldn't imagine at that point in time. Everything that morning had been so weird already though, so I didn't find it entirely unreasonable. I just complied as I had been doing up until that point and waited for him to gather himself.

We were already a couple of blocks away when he pulled me into a side alley, his hands gripping my shirt and pressing me against the wall. I didn't bother struggling. The look on his face cried of desperation. I'd seen that look enough times on the faces of my friends, the face of my father, hell, on my own face too.

"You must tell me now and speak truthfully," he whispered harshly. "Why are you here? Did you seek out my father in the street? Are you here for the rebels? Who sent you?"

"I didn't lie to you, mate," I told him as calmly as I could. I patted the hand that gripped me. "I really did come here for the pureblood conferences. Couldn't afford to turn down the money."

He stared at me hard, as if trying to figure out if I were lying or not. I mean, it did sound rather absurd. A Malfoy – a family they'd obviously heard of – not being able to afford to turn down the money? It sounded a little fishy, sure. But I was sincere and maybe he could tell, for he let me go and brushed me off, walking out of the alley without a backward glance. I followed, not entirely sure what I was supposed to do at that point.

"Then things are as bad in your country as they are in mine," Victor Jr. said eventually, giving me a sideways glance. "I apologize for… how you say… manhandling you."

I snorted. "That's the first apology I've heard in ages."

We didn't speak for a while, just walking back. I followed him because I didn't have many other options. I didn't know where I was or how to get back to the hotel. I didn't recognize any of the streets we walked down, though I suppose these things do look different in the light of day and with people walking about – other than lowly rebel affiliated purebloods that is.

"Do you think Hermione Granger is going to change anything? All of my father's friends speak of her and how she lobbied your government for house elf rights and _won_." I could sense a grudging respect in his voice. Truthfully, I had had no idea that Granger had even done such a thing.

"I don't know," I told him honestly. I had no idea why I was compelled to be honest to this relative stranger that had been ready to dispose of me a few moments ago, but I felt connected to him in a profound way. We were brothers in circumstance. "I think in her heart she means well, but she is, in the end, one of them."

He immediately knew who I meant by _them. _It was relieving not to have to hold my tongue.

"I don't even know why I'm here," I confided in him. "The whole thing looks to be a farce. Things back home, they may not be as blatantly bad as they are here, but they're just as bad."

Saying it out loud made it even realer for me. Victor Jr. nodded slowly, taking in my honesty. I could feel a sort of trust blooming between us. I felt that he got me then.

"Was there a rebellion in your country?" he eventually asked.

I shook my head, no. We hadn't gotten the chance and probably would never get one. "After the Dark Lord was defeated, they put us on trial and sent us to prison. Those of us who managed to survive got carded. Now they take our money, turn us to the streets, and keep us there long enough to starve or muck up our fake chance at freedom to be locked up after all."

A strange sort of gloom set itself upon me, making that admission to him. My companion, too, seemed pained. I could tell we had seen the same things, lost the same identities, and had our lives ripped from us because we were born to undeserving statuses. There was a murderous glint to his eyes, knowing the bond that we shared between us.

"They killed my brother during the first rebellion," he said slowly, vehemently. As if this fact was something that ruled his entire being. "The rebels, _our _people, were rallying in the main square, the street that my father forbade you from entering. The hit wizards came. They killed everyone. They butchered our women and children and fighters."

"I'm sorry," I said with as much meaning as I could muster. What else could I say?

"I am sorry, too," he said to me sincerely. "They locked up your father and drove your mother mad in that asylum. Stories have been told."

I had nothing to say to that. I didn't want to. I knew he was trying to acknowledge my pain, share and blend his misery with mine, but that was something I actively avoided. I did not want to bond with people I would never see again. Beyond Nott, I didn't want to see anyone in my life I cared about ever again. And that was only because Nott was keeping some of my possessions safe.

And yet, I couldn't pull myself away. This not-so-stranger had revealed his dark history to me in hopes that I could affirm its horrific reality. I couldn't turn him down.

I made the effort to pat him on his shoulder, even though it went against every grain of self preservation in my being. He merely nodded, as if this were enough, as if any of this were common place. As if misery did indeed love company instead of preferring to wallow in its solitary, graceless existence.

When we reached the hotel, Victor Jr. shook my hand. I thought that would've been the last of our odd encounter – the end of my surreal morning – but he held me close. "The rebels live in that alley. They watch the entrance. They would've seen you about to cross the threshold. They're going to try and figure out who you are now."

I opened my mouth, but what was there to say in response to such a declaration? Apparently, I didn't need to say a thing, for he wasn't finished.

"They're amassing," he whispered. "The Ministry knows it. There are whispers everywhere. If these conferences do nothing good, they're going to attack how we were attacked and massacred. I've even heard talks of assassination in the dead of night."

This last was said in a hushed, scared whisper. My heard began to pound. "But surely they can't…surely they know better-"

"If your conferences do nothing, we're going to leave Sofia and never come back." It was blunt. I could see that their family must have deliberated it for months, argued over it. "You must promise me you'll do everything you can to make it a success. _Promise _me."

It was the most intense demand a stranger had ever made of me. Even Voldemort had simply waved an imperious hand and expected compliance. But this was a plea. The same intensity of Dumbledore's dying wish to Severus Snape.

"_Severus… Please…_"

"Yes," I heard myself saying. "Yes, of course."

He nodded then, shaking my hand between both of his before looking about him. A lot of the people out and about were giving him odd looks, some of them even going so far as glaring at the young man. Perhaps it was his clothing that gave him away for what he was. They were even shabbier than mine. I got that, though, I was used to this kind of scrutiny. He didn't belong here.

"I must go," he said to me, realizing he could be caught in a terrible bind if we continued our chat here in the open. "If it comes to us leaving, I'll ask father if you can come with us."

And with those kind words that made my heart clench – for the man barely knew me and yet was willing to go to such brilliant lengths – he was off into the crowd, leaving me standing on the plush carpeted steps of the hotel that neither of us truly belonged in.

/

I eventually did go inside, even though I didn't really want to. The day was beautiful, the skies clear and sunny, and Victor Jr.'s words were ringing in my head.

They could leave this place, this madness. They were planning on doing it. Hadn't I made Nott the exact same promise just before I'd left? Nott had known it was absolute bullshit, of course. There was no way to get out of England legally if you were an ex Death Eater/criminal/lowly and poor like us folk. And the illegal methods were dangerous, almost always resulting in capture and/or death. Only the bravest or the most desperate ever attempted it.

But I was already out of the confining borders of Britain. I was already half free…

Really, it had been a little bit of an oversight on Granger's part, not keeping closer tabs on me. There was nothing stopping me from going back up to my room, gathering my meager belongings, and getting the hell out of there. I could maybe find my way back to Victor Jr.'s house, give them what gold I had with me in return for safe passage outside of Bulgaria. They probably knew something or someone who could help me.

Or, if they refused me. I could possibly find my own way. I had always been pretty alright in finding my own way. I could manage it. I could get the hell out of here permanently. I could leave Europe and its gruesomeness behind. I could maybe go state side and learn the muggle life, snap my useless wand so no one could ever find me again.

I could leave all of this behind and actually, truly be free – done with it all. It was a dangerous but entirely realistic thought. There was no one in sight to stop me.

As I made my way to the staircase, thinking of what I should do and where I ought to go, someone chased after me, shouting my name.

"Draco!" I turned around to find a flushed faced Granger waving at me and destroying any immediate plans. "You missed breakfast. Are you feeling well? Are you hungry? I saved you some toast, just in case."

I felt instantly guilty for thinking of running away and simultaneously annoyed at Granger for being so trusting and naïve. Didn't she know what I was capable of? Didn't she know I wasn't trustworthy? I had tried to destroy her once upon a time for Merlin's sake. Why was she being so nice to me? But most of all, why on earth did she insist on smiling at me as if I deserved something so courteous and special?

"No, uh…" I faltered, deciding what to say. In the end I decided to go with the truth. I didn't think she would betray me on something so menial. She was too kind. "I went to a…_friend's _for breakfast. I hope that's alright?"

"Oh! Of course," she said, waving it away as if I needn't say anymore. "Were you headed to the first meeting?"

I blushed then, looking at her cheery, trusting face. "Yes…of course."

"Oh, good." She didn't pick up on the fact that I was blatantly lying, but I didn't expect her to. She was too innocent. "The Bulgarian delegates are speaking today and I can never get their intentions right. It gives me the biggest headache."

I snorted, completely losing myself and all propriety as I had been doing all too often with her as of late.

"What?" she questioned.

"Fifty percent sarcasm, ten percent snark, and the rest is just drivel with these Bulgarian politicians. Father used to say-" I stopped immediately, choking on my words, my heart drumming an unsteady beat in my chest.

How could I speak of that man in front of _her_? Was I so lost and sleep deprived that I had lost my wits? But it's obvious to you as it was obvious to me, even then, that that wasn't the case. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I knew it in the depths of my soul. Granger was the key to unmaking me and spreading out who I really am inside.

She seemed to take my faux pas in stride, though, because she was Hermione freaking Granger. "You must sit next to me then. Point out all of this useless drivel just in case I miss it."

Her forgiving smile was so brilliant that I instantly agreed. I sat next to her right side all afternoon and diligently did as she asked me to do, even though it surprised the rest of the delegation that I was even there. I persevered even though Roger Davies glared daggers at me for taking his seat next to the golden princess. The rest of the members attending the conference didn't comment, but I could see the disapproval in their faces. They were as shocked as I was that Granger was choosing to sit next to a lowly ex Death Eater.

The Look on the Bulgarian Minister's face was all too telling.

**A/N: How dramatic right? And rather long for what I had planned the chapter lengths for this story would be. Please don't forget to review, if you can! **

**Until next week, here's a snippet of the next chapter: **

"Seriously Malfoy," she said. "I'm not dating anyone and I'm not sleeping with anyone in my room. That would be wholly unprofessional."

"Right…"

"Alright then," she said, rolling her eyes at my disbelief. She slammed the door of her room in my face, leaving me standing rather awkwardly in the hallway.

**Response to unsigned reviews: **

**Guest: **I understand how you feel, but bear with me. Things told from one person's perspective (especially someone like Draco Malfoy) are always skewed. As the story progresses, his perspective will slowly become a lot less skewed. Thank you for reviewing!

**HG4eva: **I definitely agree with you. Ignorance is entirely bliss. I also agree with you about how Hermione looks right now, but as I said to another reviewer, this is all very one sided and she's not as ignorant as she might look to you all right now. Thank you for reviewing!


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